


Not Unwanted, Not Unloved

by Little_Iago, stuckytrash (Watsittoyou)



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Babies, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mpreg, Omega Bucky Barnes, Sorry kids not a lot of fluff here, fear of miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-16 14:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 50,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11254539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Iago/pseuds/Little_Iago, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watsittoyou/pseuds/stuckytrash
Summary: They'd resigned themselves to never becoming parents - until Bucky gets pregnant and drops off the grid without even a whisper to his mate about his condition.Steve will still raze the earth to find him, but that doesn't mean he likes what he finds.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Stuckytrash: This is my totally out of control fic written for Little_Iago's amazing RBB artwork! The story totally got away from me and went in a direction I did not expect but thankfully, Iago was very supportive and let me run wild with it! So all credit to Iago for letting me write this insane work.  
> Also, thanks to NurseDarry who beta'd this fic. Without her this wouldn't run nearly as smoothly as it does! This is going to be posted in full by tomorrow (25th), so hang tight!

“Stark,” Bucky grunted, lowering his eyes as they passed in the hallway.

He heard a deep sigh. “Look,” the other man’s voice came, before it stopped. Bucky froze, chewing on his cheek.

Maria Stark’s cries for her husband resounded in his ears, an echo of regret.

“I’m still mad,” the younger Stark continued. The senior Stark’s stuttered, _S-sergeant Barnes?_ Made him resist the urge to swallow with guilt. “Really mad. You did kill my parents, you know. The only two of them I had.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said again, possibly the hundredth time, hoarse and eyes shuttered closed. He hadn’t turned back to face the other omega.

“Whatever,” he huffed. “Just – Jesus, don’t tiptoe around me. You’re an Avenger aren’t you?” Tony sounded convincing – at least, as if he was trying to convince himself.

They both knew Bucky was guilty. But they both knew that he wasn’t the only one to blame and that… that was enough. For now, at least.

“All right,” Bucky just agreed, twisting the security band around his wrist. Freedom came at a price. He walked away.

 

Steve had been destroyed back in Wakanda, after Tony had beat him half to death. When they got the call a few months later, a peace offering, a truce between all current and former Avengers to decide a mutual agreement of the Accords, they went.

Steve would accept no variation of the documents that Ross put forward. At first, they had all been angry with Steve, seething and spitting, that he was being unfair and uncompromising, and then Steve just pushed an almost hidden, cleverly worded condition towards them, one that stated that the Winter Soldier would be executed, or imprisoned, or tortured for his crimes. He would show them a variation that allowed Wanda to be institutionalised. He would show them the condition that none of them would be allowed to take mates or significant others; a huge problem for the bite over Clint’s collarbone, the mark on Steve’s chest, and the matching bite over Bucky’s hipbone, for the new ring on Tony’s hand.

He would show them the clear favouritism for Stark over Rogers, and they would back away.

Steve wasn’t an idiot. He was their leader for a reason. They signed a binding, legal document without reading its conditions fully.

It was why they were in that mess in the first place.

Ross was angry. Undeniably so, in fact, so livid and green that Bucky wondered if it were he that was the Hulk, not Banner.

But legality outweighed Ross’s anger, so he just smiled pleasantly, just the wrong side of a grimace, and Bucky had seen that look before. Ross wasn’t done with them. Any of them.

 

His and Steve’s reunion, _true_ reunion, in Wakanda had been incredible. Without the horrific weight and trauma the left arm gave him, without the burden of guilt that Steve never doubted, without any of it, Steve loved him. Steve worshipped him from head to toe like he was a deity, proved it with the slick slide of their bodies, with the whispers of his affection into his ear as they joined intimately, again and again until Bucky was sated, that he truly, honestly felt nothing but undeniable love for his long missing mate. The love was so sharp in contrast to the harsh, rough force he’d been subjected to again and again over seven decades, so much more welcome than the latter.

They’d had so little time, in hindsight. Not enough time, before the war, nowhere near enough during. Together since 1935, and it wasn’t enough, not with Steve’s sickness and his barely-there ability to grow a knot, barely strong enough to secure a bond.

And the war.

It felt like everything he had lived for before had led to it. Led to the draft in the when they became so desperate they’d drafted an omega male. Led to the capture in Azzano. Led to that train journey that should have claimed his life. It was hard, sometimes, to remember the life he had before the war.

 

He remembered when he’d told his mother of his and Steve’s bond and that he’d promised her grandchildren.

The look on her face… he’d never forget it. She had loved Steve, of course she had. When they were younger, she used to fancy him as a suitable mate for her son, maybe one of her daughters. But she’d expected Steve to be omega. Not her son.

And she’d expected Steve to be healthy.

“My boy,” Winnifred Barnes had murmured, stroking her dainty fingers across his forehead. “You – perhaps you would be better finding – finding a suitable-”

“Ma,” he had cried, stepping out of her reach. “Steve’s – you know ‘im, ma, he’s just as good an alpha as any-”

“He’s sick,” she argued, her head tilting as her eyes filled with tears. “Any child you have will be too, James, you must understand, that’s _hard_ -”

“If you can’t accept it,” he shuddered. “Then you don’t have to. Just – just don’t expect anything from me.”

“James, you don’t understand –”

But he was long gone, and he wouldn’t see her again until a few years later, to confess that she had been wrong about children. They weren’t sick.

They couldn’t have any.

He saw the relief on Steve’s face when month after month, year after year, his period would come, and his heats would go, and there was never, not once, a sign that Bucky was pregnant.

The confrontation had been their first argument. Major argument, anyway. If Steve didn’t _want_ any kids, why hadn’t he just said it? Why hadn’t he just saved Bucky the heartbreak of trying and failing, again and again?

His reason had been the same as his mother’s. They’d be sick.

 _He_ was too sick. Barely able to form a knot. It wasn’t hard to extend that courtesy to his virility.

 

They made it work. They always would. So dependent on one another that – that they couldn’t live longer than a week not speaking to one another. The bond was too irrevocably strong between them. A life without children wasn’t so bad, he decided at last, against the ache in his stomach at the failure that resided there instead of a child.

 

The draft at least gave him purpose. There was that.

He had even hoped that after the serum, there was a chance – small, but a chance nonetheless – that they _could_ have children. The serum had definitely given Steve a fully functional, _enormous_ knot. Was it out of the realm of possibility that it made him fertile, too?

They never had that conversation. They never got the chance to find out.

His life was plucked from a moving train, a speck of snow in the Alps.

 

It didn’t even matter now. Either the fall or the serum had rendered him barren.

( _Or_ , a disgusting part of his mind crooned, the deepest of his fears. _Maybe he always was.)_

 

“We need to talk,” Bucky began, eyes lowered to the coffee table and tone dismal.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked immediately, concerned.

“It’s not – not something that...” Bucky growled at his inability to speak frankly. “It’s not _important_. Well, it is to _me_ but – it’s not life or death.”

“Alright,” Steve agreed, relaxing only slightly, still wary. “What’s going on?”

He took a deep breath, thinking of the argument they’d had seven decades prior, wondering how this conversation was destined to go.

“I – I can’t get pregnant now,” he said, forcing himself to watch the features of his mate’s face as they danced with his emotions. Steve’s brows furrowed, head tilting but a smile nervously ticking up the sides of his face.

“Uh – okay, Buck, whatever you want.” He shrugged lightly, returning his gaze to the book he had been reading – _The Martian_ , Bucky had read it. He liked it.

“No,” he insisted firmly, trying not to let his voice tremble as he thought, not for the first time, about the life he was missing. “I can’t have kids. Not now.”

“Oh,” Steve murmured, closing the book slowly with a glance at the page, settling it onto the table. “I get it.”

“You do?” he questioned dubiously, chewing at his lower lip.

“I don’t think we’re meant to be parents,” Steve admitted, though there was a heaviness to his eyes about the words. “Before the war, we couldn’t, then it was too dangerous, and then we both died. What kinda parents would we be anyway, huh?”

Bucky remained silent, teeth ground together and looking anywhere but at Steve.

“You never even wanted them, did you?” Bucky finally spat. Steve’s face grew pale and he averted his eyes.

“Of course I wanted kids, Buck. But part of me always knew that – that wasn’t an option. If our kids got sick and – and died because of my faulty genes, I’d never forgive myself.”

“Don’t – don’t _lie_ to make me feel better. You never wanted them.”

“I _did_ , Bucky, I swear to you I did,” Steve promised, and the redness to his eyes made Bucky feel guilty. “But – I don’t know _how_ to be a father. My father died before I was born. I – I was too sick to breathe sometimes. What if – what if I’d died? Left you alone with a house full of kids?” Steve faltered for a second, shaking his head. “Or – our kids. Buck, what if they caught it all from me?”

The logic to it made Bucky’s heart ache, made his stomach contract painfully. Steve wanted what was best. The raw emotion in his expression left Bucky with no doubt that if things had been different, if Steve hadn’t been sick, or if Bucky hadn’t been barren before (if he had been), they would have. They would have had as many as Bucky could have wanted, and they’d have been _happy_.

But life fucked them both over. Steve was happy without kids, and Bucky wasn’t sure if he ever would be.

“You – you wanted to hate me when I was relieved about it, didn’t you?” Steve said, defeated. Bucky nodded wordlessly. “That’s – that’s fair. But – if we had kids, Buck, they’d – they’d be such an enormous target,” he said as if it was a confession. “Our kid. He’d have a target on his back the size of Texas. I’d never put that on a kid.”

Bucky remained silent, chewing on his lips. It made sense. God knows what kind of father he would be, with his paranoia, trauma, and inability to function half the time.

“But,” and Steve hesitated again, a small smile blooming on that mouth that Bucky would give everything to have on his. “I mean – we – if things… _calmed down_ , maybe we could.”

“We can’t,” Bucky replied in a second, stiff and hard as a brick wall. The suddenness of it all made Steve blink and flinch back a little in shock.

“What do you mean we can’t? I – you’re the one who wants a family more than anything, we can at least try-”

“I said it when we _started_ this conversation,” he snapped impatiently. “I can’t get pregnant. Haven’t ever, won’t ever.”

Steve softened, expression falling to a placating one as he reached for his mate. But Bucky didn’t want to be touched.

“Baby,” Steve said, hiding the flicker of hurt. “Just because – just because it didn’t happen _before_ doesn’t mean… I mean, it was probably my fault.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He forced through gritted teeth. _Steve was going to make him say it_ , the voice in his head thrummed, gloating. _He won’t want you after you say it_ , _barren and used and broken._ “Seven decades of rape, and torture, and _breeding_ , not _once_ did I ever catch; if it never happened _before_ , it _certainly won’t now_.”

Steve flinched back again, and Bucky wanted to curl up into himself with the sheer embarrassment, the fear, the disgust he felt at himself. It wasn’t his fault, he knew that. Alphas were – especially back then, in enemy territory – violent, brutal, and uncaring. An omega bitch in heat was a nice hole to fuck.

Then he was good breeding stock – until he never got pregnant.

“You – what?” Steve whispered, horrified. “You – oh my god, Bucky, you – you didn’t tell me that they _raped_ you-”

“What?” Bucky gave a hysterical laugh. “You thought they _didn’t_? Seventy years they had me, Steve. I went through _seven_ heats, three induced. There was no chance I _wouldn’t_.”

“I…” Steve shook his head, looking a little green. “When we – we’ve…. That was – you wanted that right?”

Bucky’s train of thought stuttered to a halt. “What?”

“You – you _wanted_ to – to sleep with me, right?” Steve asked again, tone just as shaky, but that defiant jut to his chin Bucky had loved for decades.

“Yes,” he breathed. “There wasn’t a – a single second of it I didn’t want.”

“Then that’s what matters,” Steve said with conviction, reaching out for his mate again, and this time, Bucky let himself be pulled. “I’m sorry. For everything that happened to you all that time, I’m sorry we can’t have kids, and I’m sorry that I’m not as upset as you want me to be.”

“I forgive you,” Bucky replied with a thick voice, tears welling up in his eyes that he hid from his heart, his love, his soulmate, by burying his head into his shoulder. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

 

 

“The – the arm?” Bucky asked, baffled. Tony scrutinised it, and Bucky could tell it wasn’t because he was avoiding his gaze. “I mean – the Wakandans built it.”

“It’s incredible. Can you hold a balloon?”

“A _balloon_?” he asked, even more confused than before. Was Stark testing him?

“A balloon,” Stark confirmed, as if he was the one acting oddly. “As in, can you control the strength of that thing?”

“Of course I can.” Bucky furrowed his brows. Just the day before, they had been completely unable to look each other in the eye, but Stark’s desperate need to put his hands on everything mechanical outweighed his prosecution of Bucky. That, oddly, made Bucky feel mountains better. If Tony could be swayed by his arm so quickly, maybe there was hope for him and the other Avengers. Maybe there was hope for Steve and Tony too. They’d been so cold and tense with one another that Bucky was going to get frostbite one of these days.

“Incredible.”

Bucky remembered Steve, before they’d fought in Siberia, telling him about the Avengers, telling him about their quirks, their likes and dislikes, how he didn’t want to lose them, and hoped the Accords wouldn’t change that.

 _“Tony likes machinery,”_ Steve had told him. _“As soon as he heard you had a metal arm, all he wanted to do was take it apart and see how it worked._ ”

“Would,” Bucky began in a rush, halting and then hesitant. “Would you like to – see?”

He hoped that Tony understood the gesture of goodwill, the olive branch he was extending. Bucky wasn’t as good with people as he had been, didn’t understand them like he used to, so he hoped it was right.

The light that shone in Tony’s eyes made Bucky sag in relief.

“Ooh, boy, I’m Augustus Gloop up in this chocolate factory.”

“I’ll pretend to know what that means…” Bucky furrowed his brows, but the relief he felt outweighed the confusion, so he forced his muscles to relax and allow Stark to see inside the arm.

 

The vibranium arm had been a generous gift from King T’Challa, but he had waved away any thanks that Bucky or Steve could have offered in return. It was, as he said himself, an apology for the king’s mistreatment of Bucky before his innocence was uncovered.

Bucky was grateful for the gift, in actuality. While he hadn’t liked holding onto a memoir of his time with Hydra, he disliked being disadvantaged _more_.

A half hour of Tony’s reluctantly amicable chatter as he rummaged through the specs and inside of the arm led to the slow build-up of nausea in Bucky’s throat. He had no idea where it had come from – Tony hadn’t hurt him, hadn’t pressed against the nerves in the socket of his shoulder, hadn’t said anything beyond the safe constrictions of the arm’s specifications, but still he felt _ill_.

Without any sort of warning for the younger (only living) Stark, Bucky burst forward, sending Tony’s screwdriver flying, as he heaved and coughed over the side of the chair, only managing to tug the small wastebasket towards him just in time.

He retched and spewed into the basket for a good moment or two, bringing up almost everything he’d eaten that day for no discernible reason. As soon as he’d finished emptying his guts, he shuddered and put the basket back onto the floor, sitting up and dropping his head into his hands.

“I’m so sorry.” Bucky shook his head, realising he’d probably screwed up the attempt at an amicable relationship he’d been building with Tony. His mind unwillingly flickered back to the maintenance they’d performed on his arm, the scrape of their tools against his sensitive nerves, vomiting up all of the supplement shakes they’d given him. He remembered the backhands, the beatings, the abuse, even that one time when they’d forced him to clean each and every drop of his vomit with his tongue. The very memories made him even queasier.

“Why didn’t you – Jesus Christ, of course you’re as – _stunted_ as Rogers,” Tony griped, more to himself than anything, but it still made Bucky curl that slightest bit further away from him. “Why’d you throw up?”

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly, still shaking his head. The dehydration from the vomiting had already left his head pounding. And they said an enhanced metabolism was a gift. “You got any water?”

The sloshing of liquid in a plastic container rattled through the air, falling next to where he sat. He took it wordlessly a guzzled down half in one gulp, sighing after he swallowed.

“Thanks.”

“You didn’t tell me it hurt.” Tony said, almost as if through gritted teeth. “Rogers is gonna kill me…”

“It didn’t hurt,” he swore, looking at the younger Stark, so like his father, in the eye. “I’d tell you if it did.”

“You really think that hulking mass of pure, driven alpha is going to believe that?”

“He damn well better,” Bucky growled. “Don’t want to have to reel him in by the toes.”

But he left after Tony reconnected the loose panels, racking his brain as he tried to figure out why he threw up for no apparent reason.

 

It happened again two days later. Several times.

And again the day after that. And after that, and after that, and after that.

Steve noticed – of course he did, he wasn’t an _idiot_.

“You’ve got to be sick,” he fretted, patting his hand over Bucky’s forehead, both to sweep back the sweaty hair, and to check his temperature. Bucky scowled and knocked his hand away in irritation.

“We can’t get sick.”

“Then why are you throwing up?” Steve demanded, and Bucky was at an impasse.

“Bad food or something,” Bucky shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ll be fine in a couple days, you’ll see.”

Bucky already had the sneaking suspicion of what was wrong with him. He didn’t want it to be true, he _did_ want it to be true. He wanted it, he didn’t.

He couldn’t figure it out.

But he _shouldn’t_ be, that was the crux of the problem. If he was – was throwing up… he may be – be _pregnant_. A condition he’d not once been in before. For God’s sake, he and Steve were together ten years before they died, and he’d been – been _bred_ countless times before by Hydra.

No, he decided. He _wasn’t_ pregnant. He couldn’t be.

 

Until his period didn’t come.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Steve went for his jog with Sam just a few mornings later, and not a moment after Steve left did Bucky take his chance; he picked from the closet his looser fitting clothing and shrugged them on, pulling the hood on his jacket up so it masked his face as best as he could manage. If he was going to buy a _test_ , he damn well needed to be inconspicuous.

Who knew what kind of assholes were watching him? The public already knew he was a fucking _omega_. Half the politicians on Capitol Hill tried to reason that Steve had defended him because, _quote_ , ‘Steve Rogers has been seduced by the enemy’ and ‘ _he would only use Rogers for his personal gain_.’

Yeah, his _personal gain_ was his fucking _mate_ back, thank you very much.

If they knew, no doubt they’d exploit his pregnancy.

If he was pregnant.

He clasped at the band surrounding his wrist nervously, the way it moulded to his metal arm as an external, removable tracker. If Bucky was naïve, he could pretend it was a bracelet not unlike the one Tony wore to summon his suit. But he wasn’t naïve, and he knew his every movement was tracked, down to number of steps he took per day around the tower alone. He was allowed, after a long six months, to leave the tower unaccompanied. He very rarely chose to do so, however, but he’d make an exception for this.

Bucky did _not_ want to risk asking someone else, or even the Artificial Intelligence in Tony’s name, knowing that it – she? – would tattle back to Tony. Nobody could know.

Not yet. Not until he did.

So he stole away only a few moments after Steve left the building, gaining as much time for himself as he could manage.

The closest drug store to the tower offered an array of tests from different brands, and he only hesitated for a second before grabbing three at random and heading for the counter, where he paid in cash. Cash was untraceable. The clerk didn’t even glance at his face.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he stuffed the plastic bag into the pocket of his jacket, eyeing up the locations nearby for a suitable one.

He debated on the possibility of renting out a motel for a night, just to take the test, but he’d have to register under his own name. Pseudonyms were easy to track by the right person at the right time, and they probably had cameras that might catch his face. If any branch of the government found he’d been using a pseudonym, he’d no doubt be arrested. No, he couldn’t use a motel.

A public bathroom, however, had its merits. He didn’t need longer than ten minutes at most, and if the place was quiet enough, he could remain undisturbed for just that long.

He zoned in on a small, hipster café just a few blocks away, only just opening to the public, and had yet to receive its first customer. Ideal.

He slid inside and ordered something sweet without caffeine. Bucky had yet to become used to the strange names people gave hot drinks these days – all pretentiousness and over-imagination.

He sat for seventeen minutes sipping at his drink as it cooled, and wasting time on his phone, trying to calm the knot of nerves that sat in his stomach.

He drained the dregs of his drink and got to his feet. The café had begun to fill, six other people there in total. Two teenagers, both female, and judging by the way they hunched close together, they were either best friends or dating. One older man, in a business suit, relaxing in the quiet, and a mother with her two young, immaculately well-behaved children.

Bucky slid, undisturbed, into the lone, unisex bathroom and locked the door. It was fair in size, for a bathroom, with enough room for a few steps in any direction from the door, so he didn’t feel claustrophobic or trapped. He didn’t delay any longer than that, however, taking the tests from his pocket and in quick succession, tested them against his urine.

They didn’t take long to show their results on their screens, only encouraged by the sharp beat of his heart.

Positive. All three of the tests were positive.

He shuddered out a deep sigh, quelling the urge to panic again at the sight. He turned his gaze to the ceiling to contemplate his options.

Well. Option. Keeping it.

There was no way about it, he knew. Christ, imagine if he’d turned up at an abortion clinic – he’d never be allowed in public again. More importantly, he _wouldn’t_ get rid of it.

He’d wanted a baby too long for that to be an option.

That train of thought only led him to Steve. He could laugh at himself, at that moment. Only two weeks previously – had it been so recent? – he’d shot down the very idea of having a family, being sterile or infertile, whichever it was, or both, and they would never have children of their own.

And there were three positive tests dead set on proving him wrong.

What would Steve think? He _said_ he’d wanted children, before, if it weren’t for his health issues, if it weren’t for the war, if it weren’t for any of the circumstances they lived in or through. He said he might still want them in the future. Maybe he’d be okay with it, Bucky mulled over it, after a while. Being a father wasn’t something someone accepted overnight, least of all Steve.

But how could he even _get_ pregnant? It – it should have been impossible. He’d suspected he was infertile before the war, and everything during and after just seemed to prove that true. Not once, with Steve, skinny or serum, or the multitude of alpha ‘studs’ they paired him with, not once had he ever gotten pregnant. Until _now_.

He tried to continue along the train track of his thoughts, but was interrupted by the sharp pounding upon the door.

“Give me a minute,” he huffed, annoyed at having been rushed. What was he going to do with the tests? Throw them away? Then the staff would find them. What if they got paranoid? Searched through all their security footage to see who used the bathroom, see that he spent an inordinate amount of time –

“ _Soldat!_ ” came a distinctly Russian cry outside the door, and nothing had made the anxiety slip from his very being faster than that single word. _Threat_ , his mind cried instead, _danger_. Someone had found him – how? Zemo? But T’Challa had Zemo in Wakanda, serving his sentence for the murder of the king.

“ _Zhelaniye!”_ the man continued to pound on the door, and though the very sound of the word made his blood turn to ice and sweat bead on his forehead, he knew that he would be safe from being triggered. Wanda had promised him that. “ _Zhavyy!”_

He made his move in a fraction of a second, throwing the three tests in a trash can, barely bothering to hide them as he hurtled towards the door, unlocking it and tugging it open in a smooth movement that disrupted the man’s pounding of his fists, almost sending him sprawling as he opened his mouth to continue the words.

Before he could, however, Bucky grabbed him by the collar and slammed his stomach down onto his knee, leaving the man coughing and spluttering. With a sharp push away, he hit his head against a wall, and lolled into unconsciousness. He turned to see three guns trained on him, four more trained on the innocents in the café, and Bucky’s blood _boiled_.

Without even a second’s hesitation, he hurtled himself at the nearest soldier, taking him down with a slick movement that gave Bucky a weapon and left the soldier unconscious alongside his friend.

The next was a little more difficult, more prepared as he no longer had the element of surprise on his side, so Bucky ended up using the butt of the gun to knock out the man’s kneecap, leaving him a screaming mess on the floor as he dropped his gun. Bucky kicked it away, so that the soldier couldn’t still use the gun. In the chaos, one of the children, so young, barely five maybe, reached for the skidding gun. No soldier had their guns on him – why would they? Such a young boy, he could barely be a threat. No, the gun was on their mother, but now a gun was on them.

“Hands up!” the tiny voice called, making Bucky halt in his tracks and turn his gaze to the child. That small kid, bird-boned, blond haired, so much like Steve, had a gun trained on enemies so much more dangerous than he was.

The man he pointed the gun at – tall, masked – laughed evilly, a hint of hysteria to his laughter, He reached a hand out and the small hands trembled, weakened under the weight of the gun, scared.

A slap echoed through the almost silent café. Bucky growled in an instant. The mother screamed profanities at the man, and the boy cried, the youngest child beginning to scream her throat out. He didn’t even bother with the other soldier; he darted right over to the man who had hit the child.

A _child_ , oh God, a child so young he barely even knew what he was doing, and he was threatened, and the soldier was out with one punch with his metal hand, and he used his burning rage as fuel for the others. He wished he had drawn out the man’s suffering, _abusing a child like that_ , but he had no time for that.

Far too soon for the adrenaline pumping around his body like his life depended upon it, the soldiers still conscious lay groaning, but the ones unconscious bled quietly, silently. He stood panting above the last one, trying to find their insignia, trying to discern who they were, trying to figure out what they wanted, how they knew how to find him he didn’t know, he didn’t know, he’d done nothing wrong, and –

And the woman was crying, holding her children near, the teenaged girls huddled underneath a table, the man in the business suit staring at the men with horror and confusion, staff behind the counter swallowing down their desperation.

Carefully, so carefully, he made his way over to the young mother and her two children, falling to his knees slowly.

“Are you alright?” he murmured both to her and her young son, a great red mark upon his face a symbol of his bravery and stupidity.

“Who are they?” she asked instead, shuddering. “I know you – the Winter Soldier – they’re after you, why are they after you?”

“I don’t know,” he shook his head, desperation in his gaze, he turned to the window to see the chaotic scenes out there instead, knowing the police – or worse – would arrive soon. “I swear, I don’t know, I’ve done nothing wrong –”

“I believe you,” she replied haltingly, not taking her eyes off of her children, soothing the boy’s face with her hand. “Captain America trusts you for a reason – all you did was go to the bathroom, what could they want?”

Bucky went cold again, as if ice trailed through his very veins. Cameras. There were cameras all over the city, what if they had just waited for him to leave the tower, for possibly the first time in weeks, alone? What if – what if they’d seen him in the drug store, instead waited until he was more vulnerable?

And now he was going to get arrested for protecting himself against people that wanted to exploit him.

But it didn’t make sense, that they would use his trigger words. No one knew them, not since the book had been burned, and everyone with an association to it had died long ago. Zemo couldn’t have told anyone, still rotting for his crimes, so who would know them, even if they didn’t work?

The sirens blared outside like a wailing horn of despair and anarchy. Despite his very nature, his pulse quickened and he fumbled for his phone, racing to unlock it before the first man, fully armoured, hand gun raised, barged through the door.

He just barely had time to send the ‘ _I’m so sorry’_ to Steve before his phone was sent flying as it was kicked out of his hand, head forced to the ground and hands yanked behind his back. The handcuffs wouldn’t hold him, they all knew that, but it was an exercise in trust and innocence – if he broke them and ran, he was guilty. If he didn’t, he had a chance of being found innocent.

His phone, cracked, lit up a distance away from him, Steve’s response frantic.

 _Bucky what’s going on?_ One said. Another followed suit a moment later. _Bucky where are you, I’m coming to get you_

_Bucky please_

He could do nothing but swallow and shut his eyes as the Feds ran reconnaissance, pulling the soldiers in full armour into handcuffs too. Before he knew it, he was dragged into the back of an unmarked van, and for a short second, that had Bucky hesitating. Unmarked? Why was it unmarked?

But the government agencies of course had their reasons for being anonymous. He wouldn’t be surprised to find he was being taken to the Raft.

He went willingly, quietly, and let himself be locked into a more secure seat, ankles bound by a stronger metal, arms in front of him in an infinity shaped cuff. Flashes behind his eyes reminded him that he had been in a seat like this one before, and he resisted the urge to vomit.

He’d done nothing wrong, he vehemently chanted in his mind. They couldn’t arrest him for defending himself.

And yet they had.

 

They drove for hours, and that, to Bucky, was the most confusing part. He tried to sit quietly, let his silence speak his innocence, but the confusion was set too deeply in his bones for him to remain that way.

“Where are we going?” he called gruffly, knowing his voice would carry to the front compartment of the van. He gained no response, and the panic that had been dancing on the edge of his brain began to sink deeper, take a firm hold. “I said where are we _going_? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

He still gained no response, and the unmarked van he was inside suddenly became claustrophobic and stifling.

The band on his wrist beeped, giving a painful shock that made him gasp. He was more than one-hundred-and-fifty miles from New York City, he realised with a horrified start – and he didn’t even know in which direction. Far too quickly for him to even comprehend, the van slammed to a halt, a door crashing open then closed in front of the van, and a few seconds later, the van was filled with blinding, sweltering sunlight that made him flinch away.

“Where’s the fucking band?” one guy hissed at him, but Bucky was pissed enough to remain silent, uncooperative. The guy, an aggravated alpha, growled and pulled a Glock from his holster and pointed it directly at his forehead. “Look, if they can track you, I’m fucked.”

Despite the heat, a cold sweat set upon his shoulders. They didn’t want him tracked. “Who are you?” he demanded instead. “Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” He knocked the Glock forward, bashing his forehead with it threateningly. Bucky did nothing more than raise an eyebrow. He was valuable, he knew that. This alpha wouldn’t risk shooting him if he was going to get in trouble for being tracked.

Unfortunately, the guy seemed to realise he was at an impasse then, growling low in his throat as he tore the Glock away and instead aimed at –

Bucky swallowed his gasp and writhed beneath his constraints almost involuntarily. _Fuck_ , he swore inside. He knew. The gun poked at his lower ribs harshly, and Bucky grit his teeth against the barrel.

“So you _are_ ,” he snickered, close enough that Bucky could smell the acrid tinge of his breath. “Huh. Boss’ll _really_ like that, a whole step ahead of the plan. Where’s the band?”

“Arm,” he spat through gritted teeth, unwilling to even speak more than was necessary. A gun to his forehead didn’t faze him, but a gun on – on a baby he’d known about for only a few hours?

“Shit,” the man hissed, and slithered out of the van before Bucky could even respond. His heart was pounding in his chest. These people weren’t the authorities. These people weren’t the Feds, or the CIA. They probably weren’t even Hydra, but they wanted something from him. _A whole step ahead of the plan_.

His baby. They wanted his baby – but he’d only known about the baby for _sure_ for – for however long he’d been in the van, three hours at most. Why hadn’t he texted Steve when he’d had the chance? Why hadn’t he called as soon as the soldiers were down, explain everything?

It didn’t matter – he knew that wherever he was, Steve wasn’t far behind. They’d meet in the middle at some point, as soon as this soldier – of what organization, Bucky didn’t know – released his arms to get to the band. He was already being tracked, if the beep was anything to go by. As soon as his arms were freed, he’d make his move.

But the soldier, a man with greying stubble and harsh lines around his eyes, returned with a syringe in hand, and for the first time, he panicked. Though he knew it wouldn’t work, he still tried to resist the handcuffs, tugging and pulling in hopes the vibranium would win out, but to no avail. A hand forced his neck to an uncomfortably bent angle, and he tried to throw his head back, but the point of the needle escaped into his vein and the plunger forced the liquid into his blood. Within seconds, his muscles slackened and his eyelids drooped.

“I’m not stupid, _soldat_ ,” the man snickered, as he slipped into unconsciousness.

 

“I swear to God,” Steve snarled, shoving Stark against the wall, hands bunched in the fabric of the neck of his shirt. “If you had _anything_ to do with this, I don’t fucking care if we were friends-”

“Steve, stand down,” Sam’s voice called from behind him, out of breath both from running back to the tower, and from the fear hinging in every syllable. Steve had become so consumed with rage that he had already destroyed half of the room. “Violence isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

“I have lost him _twice_ ,” Steve growled, still speaking as if directly to Tony, whose expression was nothing short of stony and unyielding, yet he made no move to defend himself. “I will not, and I mean that, lose him again.”

“We don’t know what happened,” Sam reasoned, and Steve just wanted to continue to rage against everyone; his mate was _missing_. “Anything could have happened.”

“I had nothing to do with it,” Tony hissed, voice so eerily reminiscent of _don’t bullshit me, Rogers, did you know?_ “For God’s sake, I was getting _along_ with the asshole, what more did you want from me?”

“Anything to do with it, Stark,” he warned, grip slackening reluctantly as he stepped away, glare not once falling from his face. “I mean it.”

“So you don’t want me to help you find him then?” Stark challenged, almost a bite. Steve ground his teeth and rolled his eyes to the ceiling for strength. “Because I can do that. Remember that _band?_ You know, the tracking device mandated by the Accords?”

“Yes, I remember,” Steve hissed impatiently, recalling the almost two week argument the team had had over it until Bucky had gently set his hand upon Steve’s and looked imploringly into his eyes, saying _this is the best outcome we can hope for._ “Vividly. Are you going to track it or not?”

His skin was already crawling at the distance between them, nausea gurgling in his gut as he itched for his mate, especially after such close and prolonged proximity to one another. He would not think about the train, he wouldn’t (not when the bond tugged at him, tauter than it had been since that very day.)

“Friday,” Tony shrugged offhandedly, and her Irish lilt replied in an instant,

“On it now, sir.”

Steve exhaled a ragged, aggressive breath as he sat himself on the torn sofa in the centre of the room, surveying the damage he’d done in his anger. Tony already knew he’d move Heaven and Earth to keep Bucky at his side, especially since he knew they were mates.

Steve dropped his head into his shaking hands, only, he would admit, shaking from the adrenaline, from the gut-wrenching ache of the distance between him and his mate.

The stench of Stark in his nose made him want to retch and scratch at his skin, because _his_ omega was _gone_ and the _wrong_ one was only a metre away, and it wasn’t even remotely fair. Sam knew better than to get close to him; an alpha in a rage, as shown by the state of the room, could do all sorts of damage to anyone and anything in his way.

“Sir?” Friday’s voice called, sounding worryingly nervous for an artificial intelligence. “We may have a problem.”

Tony didn’t even get the chance to reply to his A.I. before Steve snapped his head to the ceiling and growled,

“Don’t you _dare_ tell me there is a problem in finding my mate, you either find him, or shut up until you do.”

“That’s not what I mean, Captain Rogers,” Friday replied to him, sounding impatiently snippy considering she had no emotions. Or gender. “I’ve tracked his band to forty eight miles past the border of Pennsylvania-”

Steve was on his feet in an instant, darting to the elevator and jabbing at the button hard enough that it cracked. The elevator didn’t come, and after a long minute, Steve growled again.

“Friday, take me there.”

“That’s the problem, Captain. The band has been in the same place for almost an hour.”

“Then he could still be _there_!” Steve snarled. “We’re wasting _time-”_ he insisted as he jabbed the broken button again.

“The sensitivity of the band also detected blunt force trauma to one side. I don’t think Sergeant Barnes is still there.”

“I don’t care,” he insisted through grit teeth. “If there is even the slightest possibility that my mate is there, I’m _going_.”

“At the risk of your safety, Captain, I can’t open those doors.”

“Then _don’t_ ,” Steve growled, turning to give Tony an only mildly apologetic look. “I’m sorry about your elevator.”

And without another word, despite the screech of the building’s alarm system, despite Sam and Tony’s arguments otherwise, he forced his fingers between the gaps, and ripped the door open only enough to slide through before he was gone.

 

His motorcycle, built completely by Tony for speed and efficiency, was far too slow. He had nothing but the clothes on his back and the phone in his pocket, still waiting for a reply he wouldn’t get. He hadn’t even gone to fetch his shield, since that would have wasted valuable time that his mate could disappear in.

But he zoomed closer and closer to the coordinates that had been texted to his phone surreptitiously a half hour after leaving. Closer and closer he got to the location of the band, and the bond still twisted beneath his skin, writhing, taut and stretched too far. There was no relief, like the slackened grip upon a tugged rope, no immense closeness like that he felt when he saw Bucky’s face on that highway in DC. He got none of it. If anything, the distance between them only increased, just as numb as it had been when a train carried him away from his dying mate a century before.

The road that the coordinates led to was abandoned. Empty. With barely even the slightest spattering of greenery on the outskirts, it seemed as foreboding as the conspicuous metal band that sat right in the centre of the road. He screeched to a halt and vaulted towards it, desperation making him tug up a handful of dirt alongside it.

There was a certain scent that diffused across the band, his mate’s, _Bucky’s_ saccharine fragrance, but something else, one he didn’t recognise but one that was undeniably _alpha_.

Another alpha had his mate.

He wanted to crush the band to fragments within his fist, but he forced down his rage and returned to his bike.

 

His ire had decayed with every passing moment on the drive home, at a significantly less frantic pace. The sun, where it had only been rising before Bucky’s disappearance had occurred, had dropped lower, sky beginning to darken and cast a blood red glow upon the tower.

Dejected, alone, he was allowed access to the elevator, gaining no words from Friday. He suspected he had greatly annoyed the A.I.

He hadn’t at all expected the elevator, with the metal scrunched in the centre as if it was no more than fabric, to stop on the shared floor. He most certainly hadn’t expected everyone to be there waiting.

From Rhodey, looking stern but still sympathetic in his wheelchair, to Wanda, with her scarlet magic spinning between her fingertips like a nervous web, Vision resting a hand upon her shoulder, to Clint whose eyes had a certain darkness to them. Even Bruce had set himself carefully upon the armchair, hair only starting to grey about his temples. Pepper perched on the arm of it, with Tony at her side, jaw clenching and unclenching periodically. To top it all off, there was a certain grief in Sam’s eyes that made him recall Sam’s own almost-mate, who had died before they had the chance to fully bond.

“Don’t tell me I did anything wrong,” he muttered, voice unexpectedly hollow and numb. “I had to try.”

“You did nothing wrong, Captain,” came a smarmy, familiar voice that made the very tips of his toes shudder with distaste. To the side of the room that Steve hadn’t bothered to look at, not having expected anyone, stood Secretary Ross, complete in suit and tie. “It’s Barnes that’s the problem.”

“Ross,” he said scathingly, finally stepping completely into the floor. The door slid closed behind him. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Ross gave him a ghost of a smile. “Barnes is in big trouble, Captain. Reports from witnesses at the café he attacked said that he was _triggered_.”

All eyes in the room swivelled to Wanda, whose eyes widened in horror, going as big as saucers.

“I got them all,” she insisted, not speaking to Ross, but to Steve, the very implication of guilt making tears collect in her eyes. “I promise you, Steve, I searched for weeks, I got them _all_.” Her desperation clung at his heartstrings, and of all people, Steve knew he could trust Wanda. She had the power to obliterate them all in one blast, almost had, when she sided with Ultron, but she hadn’t done that in a long time.

“I trust you,” he spoke directly to her, and the air filled with almost silent sighs of relief. “Bucky’s trigger words were removed completely. King T’Challa can attest to that, if you’d like for me to call him.”

“I’m not questioning the authority of Wakanda, Captain. I’m stating facts.” He pulled a small, rectangular device from his pocket that had the beat of his heart stuttering for a half a second, the threat of _danger_ roaring in his ears before he realised it was just a small, compact remote. A button was pressed on it, and instantly, footage began rolling on the bare wall opposite.

It was low quality, the audio barely loud enough to hear, even with Friday’s enhancements. It was clear, however, that the footage showed Bucky, in one of Steve’s slightly oversized sweaters, hair covering his face, entering the bathroom. A digital clock ticked away the time in the lower corner, second by second. After a moment, the footage sped up, flicking between points outside the corridor, and in the main area of the café.

Steve drew his eyebrows together in confusion as the time ticked on closer to ten minutes than five. What had he been doing in there that took ten minutes? He wasn’t naïve enough to think he was actually _using_ the facilities; why did he go to a café, of all places in New York? Why there?

He didn’t voice these aloud, but from the expressions on his peers’ faces, he knew they harboured similar questions.

Two armoured guards crowded the door, guns raised, and the camera flickered back to the main café area. He wanted to retch at the sight of a young mother cowering with her children, two girls huddling beneath a table, a man in a suit on the floor with his arms in the air in a sign of submission.

The knock that the soldiers pounded upon the bathroom door was almost electronic, what with the strange reverberation from the audio. Bucky’s voice in reply, though static and harsh, was like music to Steve’s ears, serving to soothe, very briefly, the ache of their bond. They pounded again, this time shrieking in Russian, words that he knew from Natasha as she tested the resilience of the words after each session with Wanda.

It took another moment after that before the door slammed open and Bucky was in action, every part the graceful, dark creature that took apart each and every threat in the room in a matter of seconds.

The very second, though, that made all of them, without fail, enraged and spitting with anger, was when the young boy, brave enough to lift a gun, was hit in the face. Clearly Bucky had thought so too, since that soldier received no mercy other than the fact that his life still belonged to him.

The police, or armed Feds, or whoever they were, arrived on site within two minutes of the first pounding on the door, a statistic that gnawed at Steve’s mind. Average police response time in New York was around sixteen minutes. They got there in two. Almost like they knew to be there.

“We lost visual of him here,” Ross supplied, flicking the footage off. “The security band detected extreme force, violation of the Accords, and we are no longer able to track him. We are forced to conclude that this was an elaborate escape plan.”

“Forced to conclude?” Natasha challenged, menace in her gaze and fire in her tone. “They arrested him. Look at the way they treated him, and tell me they were in on it.”

“The Winter Soldier is a powerful, tolerant machine.” Ross replied, unfazed. “He is quite capable of withstanding the abuse of ordinary soldiers. No doubt they had been instructed by Barnes to be as violent as possible. I’m sure Barnes knew we would check the footage.”

“Why would he want to _escape_ ,” Steve hissed. “When everything he could want was _here_?”

“I don’t tend to care for the wants and needs of terrorists, Captain,” Ross replied dismissively, and Steve just about stopped himself from launching at the older man.

“He is not a _terrorist_ , he is my – my best friend.”

“Frankly, Captain Rogers, I really don’t care whether he’s your best friend, your mate, or your dog-walker, I want him found. I want him _imprisoned_ for violation of the Sokovian Accords, and punished accordingly. This is a matter for the Board, now, and the decision is unanimous. He will be found, with or without your involvement.”

With that, Ross made his way calmly to the still damaged elevator and it slid open seamlessly for him.

“And Captain,” he continued just as the urge to strangle Ross was beginning to quench. “You may want to learn to control your temper.”

The doors slid closed, but Steve could still see the smarmy fucker’s smug expression before the elevator descended.

“I’m going to kill him,” Steve declared, and nobody offered anything to the contrary.

 

Waking up was an alien feeling to him, especially noting the chill of the air surrounding him, the weight upon both of his wrists and ankles, and the uncomfortable, sticky feeling of skin against cool metal.

He was alone in a large, white room that hand the acidic scent of sterility to it. A hospital room, he suspected, or something masquerading as one. The weight upon his wrists were metal handcuffs that, when tested, did not give way, meaning it had to be vibranium or similar. He was shirtless, and he could see the offending garment discarded on the floor away from him, borrowed jacket slashed on one side as if whoever had taken it from him had been too impatient to tug it off.

There was hospital equipment strewn across the room, and he had no more time than that before the door slammed open with a heavy _clunk_ , people flowing in like a dam had broken over a river.

Immediately, Bucky began putting up a fight that he knew would be futile, but he wanted these people – whoever they were – to know that Bucky Barnes was _not_ going easily. The cuffs did not give, and the claustrophobia and isolation began to creep into his blood like ice, despite being in a room twice as large as his bathroom, despite being surrounded by people.

“Bite over coxa,” one of them muttered, and Bucky’s breath unwillingly quickened, knowing he was being spoken _about_ rather than _to_ , like an object rather than a person. “Mating bite.” It was prodded by a cold, steel object. “Scar tissue, healed over. Several years old, I suspect. Belonging to whom?”

“Most likely Steve Rogers,” another man responded quickly, tone hurried as if eager to impress.

The first man, likely a doctor, ignoring Bucky’s continual attempts of escape, hummed delightedly.

“And you believe that he’s already expecting?” For the first time, Bucky slowed his efforts and noted the gang of people in the room, flickering over the white lab coats or blue scrubs, and in the case of two men, one of which was familiar, full body armour.

“Yes sir,” the familiar one responded with glee. Of course he was sure, he had pointed the gun at his abdomen. “We received word that CCTV was in operation and caught him purchasing pregnancy tests. A sweep of the bathroom where we picked him up found them all reading positive results.”

“Jasper, get the transducer, we need to verify this before we proceed.” He stopped then, and frowned at his abdomen, almost displeased. “Someone get the gel. I expected it to have already been prepared.”

There was a certain bustle about the room then, and Bucky found it even more infuriating that he hadn’t even been spoken to, only about. But not only that, a panic had begun to set in about the edges of his vision; his treatment as an object by Hydra, his deepest fear, was being relived.

Presumably ‘Jasper’ approached him then, apprehensive, like prey before a predator. In one hand, he held a small bottle, the label turned away from him, and a long, almost phallic object in the other. He set the phallic object on the spare stretch of space next to his hip, clicking the bottle open and squeezing it until a colourless, odourless gel spread over the muscles of his abdomen. Bucky hissed at the sudden cold of the gel against the searing heat he usually gave off, and twitched in place. The man then nervously returned to the phallic object and directed it towards the puddle of gel.

“Don’t touch me!” he roared, hoping to scare off the clearly nervous, young doctor. He flinched, but to his credit, did not stop. When it came into contact with the muscles of his stomach, he genuinely couldn’t resist the urge to gasp. It had been cool before, but had become frigid and cold as it was spread even further. “Stop it – don’t _touch_ me-”

They all ignored him, as if he was nothing but a voiceless body. Instead, their gazes were turned to a grainy image upon a monitor.

“Someone hold him down,” the lead doctor snapped after a moment. “He’s moving too much.”

“No!” he snapped, lungs inflating and deflating at an alarming pace at the very idea, struggling once more against his restraints as the two armed guards he noticed earlier made their way towards him, a predator’s leer in their gazes.

But he was completely at their mercy, as one of them forced his shoulders against the hard slab of metal, like a morgue table, and the other held fast to his hips in a way that felt too horribly intimate; only Steve had held him there, only Steve’s mark lay indented in his skin.

“We’re going to have to install extra restraints,” one of them said gruffly, voice strained as if over exerted from Bucky’s strength. “I don’t get paid enough for this bullshit.”

“I know,” the other agreed, grimacing. “You see what he did to Connor’s guys?”

“Shut up and hold him,” one of the doctors barked, eyes not leaving the screen before she suddenly cried, “There, hold it there.”

And despite himself, despite every instinct in his body urging him to fight, despite the taut, ragged pull of his and Steve’s bond, Bucky stilled and stared. On the screen, that grainy image of his stomach – he saw, so tiny, barely noticeable, a tiny sac.

“Seven week old foetus,” one of them murmured, at which four other people scribbled that onto separate clipboards.

“Ha!” The man at his shoulders laughed, giving him a cruel smile. “Look at him, not putting up a fight.”

“Almost like he cares about the thing,” the other one laughed, and as if in unison, from one of those creepy movies he and Steve had watched, the doctors snapped their gazes to his face. His face burned hot and red and he slammed his head to one side so they couldn’t see his shame.

“Interesting,” the lead doctor said, sounding even _more_ pleased than he had at the possibility of the pregnancy. “I think we can come to an agreement, Sergeant Barnes.”

Bucky remained silent, grinding his teeth. He knew there was no way he’d agree to anything they offered him, especially if it involved his baby.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” he mocked, and the soldier at his shoulders forced his head to face him. “We don’t want to hurt _either_ of you. I expect this is a very difficult time for you. Here’s the little agreement. You behave? No harm comes to either you or the baby.”

Bucky spat in his face.

He recoiled and his expression turned from a mocking smile into a stony mask of pure disgust. His face was forced back to one side and his cheek stung with the force of the slap the doctor gave him.

“Get him out,” he hissed. “Put him in a fucking room, and he doesn’t eat until tomorrow.”

“Fuck you,” Bucky retorted. “You’re not getting my kid.”

“This isn’t _your_ kid anymore,” he snarled in response. “The second you left the tower, that child was ours. Someone shut him up.”

A gloved hand was shoved over his mouth and tugged, leaving his bare neck exposed to the needle approaching him, a young nurse looking devoid of emotion as she approached. He started to writhe in place, but once again, he found the restraints far too strong for him. Like in the van, the needle pierced the already-healed skin of his jugular vein, and the strength of the solution meant he was slipping, fighting, into unconsciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve stared at the band.

It had been the subject of so much loathing from Steve, even though Bucky had accepted its presence and moved on before Steve could blink. He’d hated the thing; hated the idea that people didn’t trust a man he had and would die for again, hated that his every move would be tracked and scrutinised, hated that he’d never really be _alone_ with Bucky for as long as he was wearing it (eighteen months. The Accords specified eighteen months and he’d worn it for six.).

But for once, for _once_ , Steve could only mourn the fact that it was no longer on Bucky’s arm, and he didn’t have a sure-fire way to track his mate down and kill everyone who’d laid a finger on him.

“I got them all,” came Wanda’s cautious voice from the doorway, her own guilt weighing heavily on Steve’s. “I swear to you, Steve, I never would have-”

“I believe you,” he told her again, no less sincere than the first time. He looked up at her as he said it, doubly reassuring her. He could see the way her posture relaxed so slightly, as graceful as her magic was as it would weave beneath her fingers. “I trust you, Wanda. It’s – it’s _them_ that I don’t trust.” He sighed heavily and shook his head. “Anything could have happened to him. Anybody could have taken him, and he went _willingly_ because he knew he’d be in trouble if he didn’t. Whoever took him knew that and took advantage of it.”

“Viz said,” she began haltingly, and despite everything, his mouth curled into a slight smile at the fond nickname she gave to the android. “He – he said that there was a twelve percent chance that – that he ran. Of his own – own accord.”

“He wouldn’t,” he snarled suddenly, the warmth in his tone disappearing. “He – I’d _know_. I always know when he’s lying to me.” Not to mention their bond would have suffered even further.

If anything, the worry on her face only deepened into creases too deep for her young face.

“Then he said that the other two possibilities were… He had been triggered, like he said, and then arrested by an unknown faction.”

“Or?” he demanded, and she hesitated for a long moment.

“He was hiding something,” she admitted slowly. “And someone took advantage of his distraction, another unknown faction.”

“How likely was that one?” he demanded, barely even a question, and more of a rough mandate. She shrank back slightly, and he could feel something pricking at his mind, and he could see his vision tinged pink. “Get out of my head, Wanda, tell me the probability.”

The pinkness faded abruptly, and she sighed. “Sixty-eight,” she confessed.

 _“Fuck,”_ he cussed, hand tightening over the band. “Does he think that what he was hiding – was it important to – to what they-?”

“It’s impossible to tell,” she confessed. “I – my magic, it can leave… a trace,” she slid forward then, graceful on her feet like a trained ballerina, as elegant as Natasha was for her lack of experience. She settled onto the couch with him and maintained a small enough distance to be respectful, but enough to assure him that she trusted him. “I can only give an idea of where he went, but…”

“Anything you can give,” he said lowly. “I’ll take. Gratefully.”

“He’s past Pennsylvania,” her eyes glowed an alarming shade of crimson. “South… That’s all I can…”

“Thank you,” he soothed her firmly, tugging her into him for a hug, encircling her lithe body with his arms. He’d long since stopped fighting the urge to look out for her, like a little sister, or, dare he say it, a _daughter_. “That’s – that’s more than I could ask for. Thank you.”

That eliminated all states above or in line with Ohio, at least. Twenty-three out of fifty states eliminated.

He’d raze the whole country if it meant Bucky would come home safe.

“You’re going to find him, aren’t you?” she whispered, and he could tell by her tone that she had already accepted it as fact.

“I left him behind twice,” he replied, serious and sombre, thinking of the way their bond had numbed over back on the train, the way his bond flared and pulsed after DC, invigorated but agonising, dwindling. “I can’t leave him again.”

“They’re going to want to help.”

“I know,” he sighed, but.

But he had to do it alone. That van was unmarked for a reason. If they knew all of the Avengers were on their trail, no doubt they’d – they’d-

And that was the crux of the problem. He didn’t know what they’d do, because he didn’t know who they _were_.

That made everything so much more dangerous.

He couldn’t fight what he didn’t understand, but damn if he wasn’t going to try.

 

“There’s a lot you need to consider, Steve,” Rhodey told him diplomatically, arms folded and head shaking slightly. “You could be going on a wild goose chase here.”

“Better a wild goose chase than no chase at all,” he responded with barely any hesitation. If the situation called for it, he’d have been leaving the tower in full uniform, a clear statement to whoever had taken his mate. _Ready for battle_ , the suit screamed. _Prepared to kill_.

As it stood, he settled for his shield on his back and a duffel with the costume inside. He didn’t know how long he’d be gone.

“We have no leads.” Sam reasoned with him. “We scoured all the footage we could find, we have nothing to go off other than his band – and we know nothing other than that he was _there_ -”

“Wanda gave me a lead. It’s small, but it’s something.” He challenged. They all just stared at him, and once upon a time, he’d have hated it, it would have made his skin crawl, back when he was younger. But now it just made him defiant. “Don’t tell me I’m doing anything wrong. I have to find my mate.”

“Woah, woah, _mate?_ ” Clint stuttered incredulously, throwing his hands into the air. “That’s it, I’m out. There’s nothing we can do to stop this oaf.”

“Like we could’a stopped him anyway, huh?” Tony retorted, swirling some kind of drink in a shot glass. He wasn’t drinking anymore, Steve knew that for certain, so the drink was non-alcoholic. At least, Steve hoped it was. “Never can stop an alpha when he sets his mind to something.”

“Don’t start this, Tony,” he hissed. “We made our apologies, and I stand by everything I’ve done. You do too. That’s fine. But don’t bring this up when my _mate_ could be anywhere.”

The one person that Steve expected to speak up was the one person who said nothing. Wanda added her own opinions. Clint agreed with the bond-thing. Tony made his comments, Rhodey tried to reason, Vision spewed his statistics, and Sam continued to offer assistance…

Natasha, with her legs folded gracefully beneath her body, made no move to even open her mouth. Her very silence unnerved Steve more than anything anybody could have said. Her face was a careful, neutral blank, and her whole body was loose and relaxed.

Clearly he hadn’t been the only one concerned.

“Come on, Rosenberg, we know you’ve got something to say.” Tony complained, shaking his head. Natasha’s mouth turned up, amused.

“I don’t have anything to say.” She countered. “Except that I’ve left a list in your apartment of potential covers you and Barnes might need.”

Steve smiled slowly. “You knew I was going to do this.”

“I know you better than you give me credit for, Rogers,” she teased. “Every lead I could find over the past three hours is in a file. Some of them are dead. Some of them might not be. I didn’t have time to sort them, so you’ll have to figure it out on your own.”

 

Bucky didn’t want to open his eyes.

The room wasn’t as chilled as the first, and he was definitely wearing a shirt this time, but by far the most confusing aspect of the room he had awoken in was the presence of a soft yet firm mattress at his back, luxurious enough to challenge even those in the tower.

Had it all been a crazy dream? Had he not been kidnapped by an organisation he didn’t know of? Was he not – not pregnant at all?

He cracked open his eyes.

It hadn’t been a dream.

The room itself actually, to his horror, did look like something that Tony would choose, being extravagant and luxurious. There was a door, out of place amongst the deluxe decorations, heavy duty and metal, so he assumed that was the only door out of the place he was kept. Another door, nothing like the first, was a plain white, wooden door. Sliding nervously off of the bed, he pulled at the knob to reveal an equally elegant bathroom hiding inside it, easily as large as the one at home.

 _Home_. The thought panged in his chest like the ache of a breath untaken. It was then that his and Steve’s bond began to pulsate and flicker painfully, pulled taut like a tightrope, and Bucky was one small breeze away from overbalancing.

The sight of a small, round, black object in the upper corner of the bathroom made his blood boil. He marched back into the first room, which seemingly served as both bedroom and ‘living room’, where he found two others at opposite ends of the room.

Cameras.

They were watching him.

“What do you people _want_ from me?” he roared, but expecting no response.

That was why he couldn’t decide whether he was pleasantly surprised, or horrified, when there was the low buzz of an intercom, coupled with the static of a voice in response.

_“Please, Sergeant Barnes, relax. Make yourself at home. You will be staying here for the foreseeable future, so you should become acquainted with your surroundings.”_

“As soon as I get outta here,” he growled, baring his teeth at one camera. “You’re gonna be the first fucker to have his throat torn out.”

The intercom buzzed again. _“The door is comprised of adamantium, Sergeant, a metal just as strong and durable as vibranium. You will be unable to leave the room without strict supervision at all times.”_

“I’ll find a way out. That’s a promise.”

_“Please, make yourself at home. Your meals will be introduced via a small, removable gap at the bottom of your door. And no, Sergeant, before you check, the gap is not wide enough to fit a human body through. If you need anything, you may simply ask and it will be provided.”_

“How about my fucking freedom?” he called, baiting and angry. He received no response.

 

The food they passed through the next day was decent-looking. He didn’t know what it tasted like, since he refused to eat it. Who knew what they put in there? And if he refused to eat, they’d have to force him.

If they had to _force_ him to eat it, they’d have to open the door.

He waited for them to make their move, because he’d already gained the upper hand.

 

They’d push food through, he’d push it straight back out.

By the second day, he was already starting to feel the effects of hunger on his body, only magnified by the serum and his metabolism. He persevered, however, knowing that soon enough, the door would open, and he would be out before they could blink.

Except he was getting weaker. He hadn’t accounted for _weakness_ as part of the plan. His movements were sluggish, and it was getting all too tempting to bite into whatever succulent meal they provided, and that was just the second day. Something was wrong.

 

 _“Sergeant Barnes, you should be made aware that your metabolism and daily bodily functions have been strongly affected by the foetus. If you continue to starve yourself, you will restrict nutrition to the child, and likely cause a miscarriage. I’m sure you don’t want that._ ”

The word made his chest constrict as, on the third day, a large English breakfast greeted him through the flaps.

He stared at the plate, blinking slowly as tears arose in his eyes. He was killing his baby. He wasn’t going to _win_ , wasn’t going to _escape_ , not if either of those things took away a child he wanted more than anything.

He hiccupped as he suppressed a sob, reaching with his trembling flesh arm for a piece of buttered toast, and gave in.

 

He’d lost the first battle, but he would win the last.

 

 

_“Medical staff will be with you in five minutes, Sergeant Barnes. You will receive a sonogram inside your apartment-”_

“Cell,” Bucky growled.

 _“And will be unable to leave._ ”

“Try and stop me,” he hissed, knowing full well he would get no response.

They called this place an apartment, but it had a locked door, a bedroom, and a bathroom. No matter what they said, it was a cell. He’d been in that – that _place_ for over two weeks, his screaming and demanding answers gaining nothing but measured responses of, “ _You are exhibiting high levels of stress, Sergeant. This could be fatal to the foetus_.”

It was _the foetus this_ and _the foetus that_. Fuck them. Fuck _all_ of them. It wasn’t a goddamn _foetus_ , it was a baby, _his_ baby. And they knew how to exploit him.

He’d given it away on that first day when he had stared at the sonogram of the baby, when he’d stopped fighting briefly enough to become ridiculed for it, so now, anything and everything he did would suddenly affect his baby.

The worst part of it _all_ , was that he didn’t know if it was true or not. He grew up in the goddamn Twenties, where pregnant people were encouraged to smoke for the health of their baby, only to find that in the 21st century… that could result in stillbirth. He’d never even tried to research anything about pregnancy or babies; what would be the point? It would be like torture to him. He couldn’t have any, so why would he upset himself by looking at the very thing he wanted?

And now he was pregnant. And these people could be telling him exactly what they need of him, and he had no idea.

The adamantium door groaned as it opened, and Bucky was on his feet in a second, completely prepared to attack whoever was at the door and make a run for it, but –

But the woman at the door made him stop.

He recognised her.

And she clearly recognised him, judging from the way her red, tear-filled eyes went even wider.

“Cho,” he murmured, realising with a start that the guards outside his _cell_ had a gun to the small of her back.

“Sergeant Barnes,” she whispered in reply. “You’re who they wanted me to see?”

“I see you’ve met,” came the same voice that fluttered over his intercom when it was most annoying to him. “And I see that your position is quite clear. Doctor Cho and our own team will be monitoring the progress of the foetus, and if you make any attempts of disobedience or escape… well, that certainly won’t end well for Doctor Cho.”

She swallowed loudly, trembling. Bucky couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to get her here – she didn’t seem to know what was happening, so he doubted she was in on it.

“Are we clear, Sergeant?” the man said, a smug grin on his face that clearly shouted, _I win_.

“Clear.” He hissed through gritted teeth, and Cho stumbled forwards, as the gun at her back shoved at her. Behind her trailed two other people in full scrub uniform, sterile masks over their faces so he didn’t have to look at them.

“Doctor Cho, please commence with the appointment. We will be watching and listening, so don’t think you can hide from us.”

The adamantium door slammed closed, and Cho hiccupped a sob. Bucky had no idea what to do but stare unseeing at the closed door.

They knew he would try to escape, of course they did; they weren’t stupid. So they got themselves a failsafe. Someone familiar he could be comfortable with, and someone they could use as leverage. They couldn’t hurt _him_ , and he knew it. They wanted his baby too much to risk him getting hurt.

“I didn’t know you were a doctor for…” he trailed off, unable to find the right words, and nervous to speak while the two doctors stood at her back. Cho sobered, still trembling.

“I’m not. I’m a geneticist. But some of my training did take place on a maternity ward. I can do – enough. I’d imagine they want me _after_ , too. See if there’s anything in the genes.”  She brought her gaze up to his face then, as if searching for answers. “He’s looking for you.”

Despite knowing the hope was false, it still fluttered blindly in his chest, like a butterfly.

“He is?” he responded, but he should have known that already. Cho nodded slowly.

“Bruce and I have been keeping in touch. He’s going to find it _suspicious_ ,” she spoke up suddenly, clearly not speaking to Bucky. “That I won’t be replying to him.” She gained no response, and sighed in frustration. “I didn’t know you two were mates. Or that you were pregnant.”

“I didn’t know I _could_ get pregnant,” he retorted immediately, which made her brows furrow a little in confusion. He knew she’d have interrogated him further had the man’s voice not rudely interrupted,

“Doctor Cho,” one of the doctors murmured, threatening and low.

Cho swallowed and blinked.

“We should…” she trailed off, and despite himself, he nodded. It was bad enough knowing that one wrong move could hurt his baby, but knowing it would hurt an innocent woman, and a friend of Bruce’s too? The guilt would be unimaginable.

So he took his seat on the bed and looked around the room. In one closet, upon his initial inspection of the ‘apartment’, he’d discovered an array of medical technology. Attempting to further inspect it, he was warned by the disembodied intercom voice not to touch it. He had anyway, and was not given food until the next evening.

Cho set about pulling out the equipment, her eyes closeted with a darkness that Bucky wished he didn’t understand as well as he did. The other doctors merely watched on, ensuring her compliance and his behaviour.

“You didn’t know you could get pregnant,” she murmured conversationally, setting up the devices needed for the appointment. He didn’t even pretend he knew what they were.

“No, I didn’t,” Bucky shrugged, feeling like she was scrutinising him. “Long story short, I didn’t get pregnant before or during the war, didn’t get pregnant while I was with HYDRA, so naturally I assumed it would never happen. Apparently I was wrong.” He swallowed then, and thought back to Cho’s assurance that Steve was looking for him. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. “Last I knew, he was in Florida, and that was over a week ago. He’s off the grid.”

“Idiot,” Bucky hissed. “He’s going to get himself killed.”

“I imagine he’d do anything to get his mate back,” she pointed out, biting her lip as she clicked a number of commands onto the computer monitor. “Especially his pregnant mate.”

Bucky had to swallow and turn away before he admitted, “Steve doesn’t know I’m pregnant.”

“What?” she said sharply, pausing in her actions to stare at him. “How? You didn’t _tell_ him?”

“I didn’t get the _chance_ ,” he growled in reply. “I found out _minutes_ before I was kidnapped. Is that alright with you?”

He watched as Cho lowered her gaze and sighed, almost deflating. She continued on her work with the machines. “I can’t imagine how… horrible that must be. Not being able to tell him.”

“Yeah.”

Cho clearly recognised that the topic was leading to a dead end, so she changed the subject abruptly, loudly, with a little bitterness to her tone that wasn’t quite aimed at him.

“It’s ready. I need you to pull up your shirt.” When he did so, she frowned. “How far along are you?” she asked as she gently slathered the cool clear gel. She was looking at the only slightly pronounced abdominal muscles, that only a few weeks previously, had stood hard and proud against his abdomen. They had softened with a lack of exercise, and he didn’t doubt they’d soften even further.

“Ten weeks.” He muttered. “At least, that’s what _they’ve_ been saying.” He gestured sharply to the doctors with his head, and they turned to him with an almost disapproving darkness in their eyes.

“I need to press the wand against you,” she murmured to him. She took his silence for consent, and did so, all the while keeping her eyes on the computer. The other two moved then, which alarmed Bucky, but he couldn’t exactly do much about it. He _definitely_ started to panic when they pulled a sealed syringe from out of the closet.

“What are you doing?” he demanded sharply, ignoring the way Cho directed the wand over his abdomen, eyes instead fixed on the way they were pulling the syringe from its packet. “Don’t come near me with that – that _thing_ -”

Needles – he hated needles, couldn’t handle them, didn’t _want_ to, never wanted one near his skin again, but they seemed to have no intention of stopping. Twice already they had pierced his skin, and now they wanted to do it again? Was nothing enough? Cho watched on, alarmed and eyes wide. He didn’t blame her for not stepping between them – he knew the risks, and there were two of them.

“Samples of your blood need to be tested,” one of them explained, as if through gritted teeth, moving closer and closer to his flesh arm.

“You can’t get nothing from my blood,” he snarled. “They’ve already tried, sweetheart, don’t _waste_ my time.”

“This isn’t about _you_ , unless you want your child to die?”

He snapped his jaw closed, and shot a desperately questioning glance towards Cho. She winced at the wording, but looked apologetic once she caught his gaze.

“They need to do tests on your blood,” she confirmed, face twisted as if she’d had to suck on a lemon. “For – for the health of the baby. They don’t know what effects the serum may have, and its standard anyway.”

The fight oozed out of him after that, forcing his eyes closed and his flesh arm out so that he didn’t look when they worked. He felt the moist touch of an alcohol wipe, followed quickly by the tiny pinprick of pain as blood flowed out of his veins and into the syringe. Blood, Bucky was very familiar with. Be it war, or his own period, he was intimately familiar with blood. He simply did not _like_ seeing his own blood out of his body, not if it was unnatural, as blood tests tended to be.

He’d let them. He _hated_ that he was reduced to reluctant submission, like – like a cornered, abused _dog_. Like he was with Hydra all over again.

“Your baby is doing fine,” Cho murmured slowly. Bucky, without opening his eyes, shuddered, latching onto the words like they were made of gold. One person was looking out for him, at least. That was enough for now.

 

He had to come up with a plan. He had to escape.


	4. Chapter 4

“Nat, you gotta help me out here…” Steve groaned into the payphone. “I’m getting nowhere, and our bond is just getting tighter and tighter.”

He heard her heave a deep sigh. _“Steve, I’ve given you almost everything I found._ ”

“You expect me to believe you haven’t been following some of your own?” He arched an eyebrow, knowing nobody could see. She had her own bond with his mate, not romantic, not a _bond_ , but… a connection. A deep, resonant understanding and respect for one another that differed wholly from Steve and Bucky.

_“Of course I have. We all have, in our own ways. Where are you now?”_

“Texas.”

 _“Alpha supremacist lead? I thought for sure that was a good one._ ” She sounded amused rather than confused, which mildly infuriated him.

“He’s dead.” He replied, tense. Her laugh was silky and brief.

 _“I didn’t think you’d be that enraged by him._ ”

“No,” he hissed. “I _mean_ that he’s been dead for over a week. Heart attack. He was a fat man in his sixties, he didn’t take any care of his body. Dead. Nothing incriminating in his house other than the relief in his husband’s eyes and the healing bruises on his wrists.”

“ _Nothing at all?”_

“Nothing about Bucky,” he confirmed, mouth twisted with disgust, remembering how he’d turned the house upside down with consent from the husband. “Searched every inch of the house. Did find some, well, let’s just say _illegal_ pleasures, along with contacts for other people into such content.” His smirk was malicious. “It has been anonymously sent to the police.”

 _“At least some good came of it,_ ” Natasha sighed. “ _You should have a couple leads left. I’ll see what I can dig up.”_

“Four in California and two in Arizona,” he agreed with a heavy sigh. 

 _“Twenty-six leads in only three months,_ ” Natasha drawled. “ _I’m impressed, Rogers._ ”

“And I’m desperate,” he retorted, snippy and irritated. “How can there be nothing? How could we have missed _anything_?”

 _“There are a lot of variables._ ” Natasha reminded him. “ _Remember what Vision said? We haven’t accounted for movement across state lines, travel time, whether he’s still moving, or even if they changed vehicles. Wanda said he went south. She couldn’t track it further than that, and can’t anymore, so who’s to say they haven’t taken him back to New York?_ ”

He dropped his head to the payphone and groaned with irritation. “They could be running circles around me and I’d never even know.”

_“Exactly. It’s going to be hard to find leads now. There’s been too much time since he disappeared.”_

“Don’t bullshit me, Nat.” he scoffed, shaking his head with an amused smile. Clearly his confidence in her amused Natasha too, because she laughed again.

 _“I said it would be hard, not impossible. Least of all for_ us _.”_

“Thank you,” he murmured, closing his eyes tightly. “It’s – it’s been too long.”

 _“You were apart for two years when you found out he was alive_ ,” Natasha pointed out, but her tone was sympathetic. _“We’ll find him_.”

“I know. And God help whoever’s there with him.” He furrowed his brows then, and asked, trying to be selfless after spending so much time being selfish with his own bond, “Are there any leads on Cho? I know Bruce is worried.”

 _“He is_ ,” she sighed, tone more serious than it had been. “ _Her apartment was trashed, but there were no prints, no CCTV, nothing. No way to track her. Apparently she was supposed to return to Seoul two weeks ago and never showed. No tickets purchased, no cab, no contact with any of her friends or family. Gone._ ”

“I feel like something’s going on, Nat.” he confessed, knowing she’d already come to the same conclusion. “She disappeared two weeks after Bucky did. It can’t be a coincidence.”

 _“The universe is rarely so lazy_ ,” she agreed, and despite himself, Steve snorted.

“Now is not the time to be quoting TV shows, Nat.”

 _“I did it anyway. But why could they want a geneticist alongside a highly trained assassin?_ ”

“Could they be trying to replicate the serum again?” he mused, thinking of her cradle. If it could build a person – or rather, android-person – why couldn’t it replicate the serum? If they could just unlock his genetic code… nothing could stop them. “Do you think it’s Hydra?”

“ _No._ ” she said, stubborn and unyielding, a response that shocked Steve more than he thought it would. Her certainty was somewhat alarming. _“If it_ was _Hydra, they’d show him off more. There would be more clues. More – more_ we have your mate, chase us.”

“That just raises an even more unnerving question. If not Hydra, who?”

Natasha went silent, clearly having the same unnerving thoughts that he was. If they didn’t know who they were… they could be even more dangerous than they expected.

“ _I’ll be in touch, Steve. Stay safe.”_

“You know I won’t.” he responded in lieu of a goodbye, already putting the phone back on its holder.

It was a long, contemplative moment before he set back into motion, returning to his car with his mind carefully blank. He’d find his mate. No matter what it took.

 

 

 

The strangest part, amongst the kidnapping and being kept against his will, was that they actually seemed to care for his baby.

Of course, not in an _aww, I can’t wait to meet the baby_! way, but instead an, _I can’t wait for this baby to be born so that it’s officially our property_ way.

It meant that they would do whatever it took to keep the baby alive. It was as if he’d been coerced into relaxing, because while he was doing the hard work of creating a child he loved, he was sure that it would be safe until the second it was born. As scrutinised as he was, Bucky was almost, _almost_ grateful for it.

That didn’t mean he was _okay_ with it. Of course not. It just meant that the further along he got, the more important it was that he escaped.

He had to escape. He _would_ escape.

 

Within two weeks of meeting Cho, when he reached twelve weeks and apparently the second trimester, his once hard abdominal muscles had softened and smoothed out completely, leaving just a flat expanse that he knew was typical for a fit man of his age. But he knew that it wasn’t anything normal: it was a precursor to the swell of his belly as it grew.

But it was when he awoke a few weeks after that, his stomach really beginning to grow into a small, barely discernible bump, that he resolved to escape.

Looking at the bump made it even more real. He was pregnant, his baby was growing, and he was in enemy territory. He kept waking in the night in a cold sweat after horrifically vivid dreams of what they planned to do with him and his baby.

After all, the soldier in the van had said he was ‘a whole step ahead of the plan’. Just thinking about it made him shudder. If he hadn’t already been pregnant… it would have been like Hydra all over again – if they weren’t Hydra already, that was. He also mentioned another person – Connor? – and his group. Had they been the soldiers who had attempted to trigger him?

Had they been working together?

Eight weeks in that _cell_ and he was still no closer to finding out who was keeping him, and that enraged him so much more.

So he gathered his resolve and courage. He set his hand tenderly on the slight bulge and made a silent promise that he would escape, no matter what, _soon_.

 

One morning Bucky awoke to realise that he hadn't even tried to consider one of the most obvious solutions to escape; the walls.

The only door out of the cell was adamantium, and he had tried to bash it in once to no avail, but he had never tried to attack the walls. Why would he? He assumed that escape was futile directly through the door.

He felt like kicking himself for being such an _amateur_. Adamantium was almost as rare and expensive as vibranium was, so he highly doubted they would have bought enough of the metal to fully encase his cell. And that meant that he may be able to break a hole through the wall, make his escape, wherever he was, and - and go back to Steve.

So he bided his time, again, waiting for opportunity to strike, and he decided he would make his move at night, when everyone but the guards outside his room were asleep and silent.

That in itself posed too much of a threat, but it could be worked around. If his suspicions were correct about the wall, as long as he was quick enough to make a hole with his arm, he could silence and incapacitate his guards efficiently enough to give him enough time to escape.

That just left Cho. Could he leave her? Knowing that she'd get punished for his escape? This crisis of morality, combined with his overabundance of pregnancy hormones almost left him a whimpering mess, but he had just shoved his face into his pillow and breathed, and resolved to try and contact Cho, and try his hardest to get her approval.

 

His opportunity arose at the eighteen week mark of his pregnancy, when his stomach protruded just past his hip bones in a way that left the pants they provided for him to become just a tad too tight. It also left Bucky wanting to softly caress his skin. That felt too private, however, too intimate. He didn't want to do that in front of his captors, not when they already knew they could exploit his child. He would not give them more ammunition, he would _not_.

In any case, he was supposed to receive another check-up from Cho, as they were still apparently valuing the health of his baby very highly. The creepy way they fixated on his child made Bucky all the more determined to make his escape as soon as possible.

Cho and three others arrived, and she looked no less harried than she had the first time he’d seen her, the bags beneath her eyes still heavy from stress and lack of sleep. It made the guilt in his stomach rise into his throat like acid, knowing that his escape would weigh heavily on his conscience, knowing she would receive the punishment for it.

He returned wordlessly to his bed, eyes turned down, knowing the routine by now of what he was expected to do. How could he communicate with Cho, knowing there were three doctors and whoever was watching the footage. Eye contact was limited in its effectiveness - he could hardly convey a whole escape plan through one look. He couldn't read minds, and he doubted Cho could either.

He couldn't speak his plan, he'd be stopped before he could even put it into action. He wasn't sure whether or not she knew sign language, and he didn't know if anyone else did either, so that was out.

So that left him with one final shot in the dark.

She put the transducer on his stomach through the gel, and without even thinking, he slowly reached for her, ignoring the muttered conversations the doctors were having about his and the baby's health. They watched him with eagle eyes, but they made no attempt to stop him. Cho looked at his hand in shock,  surprised and a little confused by his forwardness, but he gave a slow nod, and she seemed to accept that he needed some type of comfort.

He let his hand sit still on hers for a moment before slowly lifting one finger to tap in small and short bursts on the inside of her wrist. The doctors didn't even notice.

KNOW MORSE

He tapped, and let his hand slacken again. Cho didn't even so much as look away from the monitor. The panic surrounded his chest then, knowing he had exhausted his options and was going to be forced to make his own escape without her permission or knowledge. He was well trained at the art of hiding things from people, so he kept his face blank as he stared at the tiny body on the computer monitor.

The transducer lifted, barely noticeable, and returned to his stomach, slowly at first, but more firm.

YES

Bucky wanted to cry with relief. She knew what he was typing. He tried not to let his relief show through on his face again, but he felt almost giddy with it.

HAVE ESCAPE PLAN, he tapped slowly, but got no response.

"Is the gender of the child clear?" one of the doctors asked, impatient and bored. Cho's eyes flickered to Bucky then, as if asking him for permission.

"It - no, it's not," she said at last, clearly lying and one of them. A large man who looked to be in his late twenties, stepped forward menacingly.

BOY she tapped quickly on his abdomen, not even lifting the transducer and instead just pressing it down in intervals. It was followed immediately by GO. She dropped the transducer then, and he hissed as it bounced off of his abdomen. The man grabbed the transducer and returned it to his abdomen, pressing harder than was needed as he tried to find the best angle.

"I don't know how to fucking read these things," he complained, shooting the other two dirty looks.

"The gender of the child isn't important," the first doctor said, once again impatient, like she had somewhere far better to be. "All that matters is that it’s _healthy_. That's what the boss wants." She shot a look at the doctor to her other side, and if Bucky would have seen her mouth, he’d have sworn it would have been blemished by a smirk. “Besides, if the boss doesn’t like what he gets, he can always try again.”

Bucky had never gone so cold so fast in his life. With a horrified look at Cho, who looked equally as distraught as he felt, he sat up sharply, growling at the three doctors.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he spat, and he wasn’t even graced with a response, the three doctors taking their leave and dragging a limp Cho along with them. “Don’t walk away –”

He jumped to his feet, but the door had already opened, and he only had time to see Cho mouth _Go_ at him before it slammed shut. Outraged, he continued to rush at the door, slamming his metal fist into it despite knowing it would have no effect whatsoever other than to serve as an outlet for his anger.

 _“Sergeant Barnes, please calm down._ ”

“Not until _you_ tell me what you’re going to fucking do to me!” he snarled, pounding his fist again against the door.

“ _We are unable to share at this time-”_

“Don’t you dare,” he growled, looking up at the nearest camera menacingly. Pregnant or not, he was the most terrifying thing they’d ever caged, and they all knew it. “Don’t give me that bullshit, she said there would be _another try_ , implying there would be _another_ pregnancy.”

His heart pulsed and thundered in his chest, going far too quickly for comfort, and he knew that he should calm down ( _for the good of the foetus)_ but he couldn’t; all he could think was that they were going to take his baby away from him, and not rest until he had another.

“ _All this program requires from you, Sergeant, is your child. Any additional children you may bear would be a bonus_.”

Bucky was going to throw up. He really was, and he hauled himself to his feet and raced to his bathroom, not bothering to close the door that supposedly served to preserve his modesty. He spewed his guts into the toilet, and at least that meant the cameras couldn’t pick up on his tears.

 

Bucky set his flesh hand upon his stomach later that night, beneath the cover of his blanket and pretended to sleep. Only the tiniest of bumps held his – his _son_. Cho had tapped ‘BOY’ onto his stomach. He was having a _boy_.

It wasn’t just ‘a foetus’ anymore – never had been, not to him – and it wasn’t just _his baby_. It was his son.

 

He had Cho’s blessing. He had to escape.

 

He waited, shrouded in secrecy and anxiety, as the lights automatically dimmed, as they did at what he was _told_ was eleven pm. He assumed, logically, that it was at this time the majority of staff left the premises for the night, leaving possibly a security guard to watch the cameras instead of the head doctor, and the guards that stood on the other side of the door. He had no idea who else was out there, no idea how to explore wherever he was, but he could do it. Take out the guards, make a run for it.

Almost like his whole life had been training him for this, he knew he could do it.

He didn’t actually make his move until later, for what could have been an hour or two or more, when he was sure everyone had settled into their nightly routine, expecting no deviation from their usual work. He wondered if they had employed more guards when he’d first arrived, expecting him to make a move. When he had been too stupid to try, maybe they had downsized his security detail. He hoped they had, anyway.

So when he finally channelled all of his bravery and stupidity, he rolled out of his bed and sauntered silently to the door. He turned his gaze to the wall in the blackness of the room, pressing his flesh hand against the plaster and knocking silently as he moved sideways along it.

Hollow.

Every tap, every knock, every hit resonated more deeply than it should had it been solid. He felt so stupid, leaning his head against the hollow wall. For almost three months he had been staring at the bars of his cell without knowing they were wide enough to slip through.

His captors must have been laughing at his inanity.

He’d be having the last laugh now.

Without even taking the time to hesitate further, he plunged his arm into the wall and felt as it thundered through the first part of plaster, and then scrape against the second. He didn’t waste another second. He yanked his arm back from the plaster only to shove back in. He wrenched chunks of the wall away until he had carved a hole large enough to writhe through, still shrouded in blackness as he remained in its hollow. Until he pierced the second barrier, he suspected he would remain somewhat safe; it hadn’t been overly loud, after all. Nothing to attract attention.

But the metal arm through the second wall definitely did.

As the barrier broke, he was instantly flooded with the sounds of the outside of his popped bubble. Yelling. Shouting. Cocking guns.

Another hole big enough to crawl through.

A gun against his temple that he knew they wouldn’t shoot.

One at his abdomen, which he knew they wouldn’t shoot either.

Three guards.

All on the floor before they could so much as threaten to pull the trigger.

And then what? He looked in the two conflicting choices he had; left or right.

Left or right?

Could he hinge his escape on a fifty/fifty chance of freedom?

He had to.

He chose left and sprinted, blood pounding in his ears, probably too fast for safety, but once he was out – once he was out he could make _sure_ his son could be safe.

No doors. No doors, none, just stark white walls and twisting curves and –

Finally. An elevator.

Up or down.

Was he in a building?

Or was he underground?

Should he go down to the first floor? Or up?

Was he overthinking, fear blurring his vision?

Up. There were no windows. All light was artificial. Underground, he guessed, and –

The elevator dinged open. Clicks of guns filled the room. Fourteen of them, no less; guns raised.

He’d gambled and been too slow. He’d gambled and they’d been prepared this whole time. How could he have been so naïve as to think they’d have taken away so much security? Bucky had underestimated them; they weren’t stupid. He was the _Winter Solider_. He was bound to make his move eventually. He’d convinced himself into a false sense of security.

And now his son was going to pay for his father’s stupidity.

“Stop. If you don’t move, we will not be forced to-”

He lunged. He was already in danger, he was already surrounded, he’d gambled wrong, but he wasn’t going to back down, not when there was still a chance –

One of them had a needle.

He hadn’t even seen it – too busy striking his metal fist against the headgear of a random solder. But it sank into his neck and turned his blood to ice as within seconds he sagged, caught by his captors, and moved.

 

Why had he been so – so stupid?

The mattress, where the other one had almost been inviting and soft, was now hard as brick beneath his back. Where the temperature of the room before had been carefully controlled, there was now the chill of cold air.

The reason became clear to him once he opened his eyes; his cell had been replaced with an _actual_ cell, down to the bars that prevented him from leaving.

The other room had been more like an apartment in size, but this – this was an actual _cell_. Down to the toilet and sink against the wall, it was a disgusting cell fit for a prisoner.

At least now he could comfortably hate his captors, rather than catch himself almost sneaking towards Stockholm syndrome.

“Sergeant Barnes,” came a disapproving drawl from just beyond the cell bars. He had no doubt they were either vibranium or adamantium. They more than likely had learned from their mistakes. The doctor that had been giving him faceless messages for almost three months was visible from the other side, eyes hard and cruel. “We are incredibly disappointed in you.”

“Fuck you,” he spat. “I was bound to try eventually. And I’m bound to _succeed_ eventually.”

“Your escape attempt could have had a very profound effect on your son.”

Bucky stilled, the growl that had been rising deep in his throat shut off and silenced. The doctor grinned maliciously.

“That’s right, we’re quite aware of the conversations you and Dr. Cho have been having, albeit only very recently. Dr. Cho has been reprimanded suitably for the both of you, and your living quarters have been downgraded.”

“I don’t care,” he snarled. “When I get out of here, I’ll kill every last one of you assholes that-”

“Please, don’t make promises you will be unable to keep. You will remain here for possibly the rest of your life. It is advisable that you _behave_.”

“Fuck. _You_.” He cursed, sliding off of the hard bed and launching at the bars. The doctor didn’t flinch, but to his surprise, his expression did falter.

No longer hard, more – more resigned.

“Sergeant,” he began again, low and careful. “I do not take pleasure in seeing any of this-”

“Then let me fucking go-”

“I _can’t_.” he hissed. “There are people, _important_ people who don’t like you, Sergeant, but more than that, that _need_ something from you.”

“Your _boss_ , for instance?”

“Yes,” the doctor hissed, surprising him again by stepping forward. “My – my superiors are very powerful men. _They_ were the ones who insisted on putting you in _here_ in the first place!” he gestured to the cell that now held him. The movement sent a shiver down Bucky’s spine, but he couldn’t pinpoint the reason why. “It was _my team_ that reasoned it wouldn’t help.”

“You’re damn right, but the other place was hardly any different.” He bared his teeth. “A cell is a _cell_ , whether or not it’s furnished with the best money can buy.”

“Do you know what they would have had us do if you weren’t already pregnant?”

Bucky met him dead in the eyes, ice cold and glaring, as he replied “I can think of something.” He leaned forward again, the cold metal bars sliding uncomfortably against his cheek. “But what I want to know is what you’re going to do with my son.”

The look of resignation faded into something else then, almost regret, almost – _almost_ fear and he averted his gaze.

“You won’t kill him,” he murmured, quietly, not trying to convince himself because he knew it was true. “No, you said your boss wants my son. Why?”

He realised, belatedly, that the anger had slithered from his own stance without his own knowledge.

He’d likened these people to his Hydra handlers, to those who punished him without mercy and to those who took pleasure in suffering. Maybe some of them did. He didn’t know. But this man – the one in front of him looked _regretful_. Had he kept his face hidden because he couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes?

“My superior has a vested interest in the synthesis of a new super soldier serum,” he said, stepping backwards and still not looking at Bucky. “That is all I can say-”

“No-” he called, trying to force one arm through a gap, but it was barely wide enough. “Not my son – he can’t take the serum, he’s a _baby-_ ”

The doctor had turned his back, a tension to his shoulders that he had never cared to notice before.

His son. They wanted to – to experiment on his _son._ Not even born, and already a lab rat.

Or worse. He and Steve were both enhanced. Could it be possible that his son would be _born_ that way? Would – would they, whoever they were, take his son and mould him into whoever they wanted to be, just like Hydra had done to Wanda and her brother, just like the Red Room had –

To Natasha.

Natalia Alianovna, a girl of only five years of age stolen from her family and corrupted, broken into the weapon they needed her to be; he had done that to her. Was he dooming his son to the same fate, just by giving him life?

White-hot tears strayed down his face without him even noticing until his face was sticky and soaked with them, breath coming too fast to be anything but an attack. He pushed himself from the bars and instead curled into the wall, face pressed against the base of his bed so as to preserve what little dignity he had left, and thumb rolling over his growing stomach as an unspoken promise.


	5. Chapter 5

“Steve? Steve!” a voice demanded at the door into his motel room, and he wanted nothing more than to growl and drive the voice away, but unfortunately it belonged to one of the most persistent alphas he knew. So, begrudgingly, he got to his feet, ignoring the pulse and itch beneath his skin as his sweat filled the room with pheromones.

“What?” he replied, voice rough and angry with disuse, combined with the feeling of being too far from his mate.

“You haven’t responded to any of my calls for a month,” Natasha raised an eyebrow, only the flare of her nostrils giving away the scent of his rut. “This at least explains a few days.”

He sighed, almost a growl, widening the door and allowing her to slip through. Under any other circumstances, having another alpha invade his territory would have him ripping her to shreds, or at least putting up a hell of a fight. _This_ rut, however, was more deeply rooted in the absence of his mate. The feeling of the bond stretched too far (too long, too wide, never getting closer, why isn’t he ever getting closer?) It left him weak; another alpha already had his mate, he was already failing his mate. Why bother challenging the alpha next to him?

“Have you been eating right?” she demanded, eyes flickering over the pristine motel room, not even a pizza box in sight. He just grunted. “Rogers, I mean it.”

“No, I haven’t,” he snarled, rough and biting. “Because my mate is a world away and I can’t feel him, can’t – can’t touch him, and it’s been too goddamned long and I _need_ him-”

There was the panic again.

He knew what his case was; cut and dried bond withdrawal. Reckless, aggressive behaviour. Check.

Sudden onset of rut out of cycle. Check.

Depression and irrational fear? Check.

Unmanageable fever and trembling? Check.

Like an addict whose heroin had been taken away, he was peeling at his own skin to scratch the itch that wouldn’t be sated until he could next lay his hands on his mate.

Last time he’d felt all of these things was when he’d awoken in the new century. His mate was dead – or close to it, as the case was – and he had to detox for three weeks before the bond flushed out the need to hold and be near his dead other half. Weak, not gone. Feeble, fragile, brittle, and Steve had done everything he could to hold onto the bond, even knowing he’d never feel it strong again.

Did Bucky feel this way? He must. Had he gone into heat? Had – had his captors, whoever they were…

“Eat,” a voice called, through the haze of water that logged his ears, thrusting something small and rectangular into his arms. When he blinked the mist away, he peeled apart the plastic, plain wrapping of the nutrient bars that Bruce had synthesised for Bucky and him when on missions.

Gratefully, he took bites. Disgusting though it was, it provided all the energy that he’d been needing, all of the nutrients he hadn’t been taking in. He’d been starving himself, as much as a super soldier could manage. Once again, a side effect of a breaking bond.

“I need him,” he muttered, twisting his lips. “It’s been almost six months, and – the last time I spent so long without him, I thought he was dead.”

“He’s not dead.” Natasha told him, soft but firm. He laughed, self-deprecating and weak.

“Unless you know something, Nat, we _don’t_ know that for sure.” His heart swelled in his chest at the idea that his mate could truly be gone, and tears welled up in his eyes. “What if they took him _to_ kill him? It would make sense. Too powerful, too dangerous. They might have wanted to kill him. Would’ve left me – like _this_. Weak. Left the Avengers in tatters again. Perfect opportunity to strike.”

Her hand was on his. Steady. Firm.

“That’s not what happened.” She assured him. “If they wanted to kill him, they’d have done it there and then, in that café. Or as soon as he stepped foot out of the tower. Vision’s sure they must have wanted something from him.”

“If they had it, would they let him go?” he was starting to feel desperate. Whatever he had, he’d give to them, just to get his mate back.

“I only act like I know everything, Rogers,” she softly repeated the words from a lifetime ago. 

“What if it’s Hydra?” he whispered, eyes trained on the floor. He’d had so many nightmares that always went like the fight on that highway in DC. Thinking his mate gone, and finding that they’d warped him all over again, trained to kill his mate with a vengeance. “What if they’re hurting him?”

“Don’t do this to yourself, Steve. We’re doing what we can.”

“What if he thinks I left him again?” he whispered, voice trembling, breath speeding up. Before he could even understand what was going on, Natasha tugged him into her side, pressing his face into her neck in an approximation of a rough hug. She was hardly one for physical contact, let alone affection, so he let himself be pulled into her embrace. And before he knew it, his tears fell out of his eyes and onto her neck, and she just soothed him through it.

 

“Sorry,” he whispered into her neck as his chills subsided. If only the media could see him now. ‘The World’s Most Powerful Alpha’ crying into someone’s neck like a child.

“Don’t apologise,” she murmured in response, her smoky voice gentle and soft, like her fingers as they trailed through his hair. “Your bond’s breaking, what happens after that?”

He shrugged listlessly, sighing. “I hold onto it for as long as I can. Find him as soon as I can, hope it helps the bond recover. Last time we had to bond again.” He shook his head, gaze turned to the ground. “How has it been almost six months? How – how has it been so long, and we haven’t got a clue where he went?”

“I don’t know.” And if Steve hadn’t known her as well as he did, he probably wouldn’t have caught the irritation, the tightness to her voice that practically reeked of failure. One the best super spies Steve knew, not that he knew many, Natasha was able to find someone with little more than a missing hair.

Except for Bucky and Cho. He’d almost started to resent her for it, but he tried his hardest not to – it wasn’t her fault that Bucky’s captors were five steps ahead of the game.

“I’m grasping at straws, Steve,” she admitted to him, voice low. “I’ve called in as many favours as I can risk, and nobody can tell me a thing about it. Security footage from the area he disappeared in has been wiped and destroyed, completely untraceable, even to me.

“Something tells me… Whoever took him, they’re in the big leagues. Playing with the big boys. They’ve got friends in high places, high enough to erase everything incriminating in a heartbeat.” She shook her head again. “I can’t find any leads on Barnes, but I’m digging up leads for whoever might have him. Some sources tell me it’s the Russian mafia, others say it’s a conspiracy within the CIA. At this point, I’ll take anything.”

“You didn’t have to call in your favours,” he murmured in reply, subdued. “I know how valuable they can be.”

“They’re very valuable. And worth it. Believe it or not, we actually like your mate. And you too, when you’re not… Cap.”

“Oh, that’s nice, thanks,” he snorted. She jabbed him with her elbow, making him wince slightly, though he’d never admit it.

“You know what I mean. When you’re not… the person that the world thinks you are. When you’re you. And Barnes is good for that. “

Steve sighed heavily. “There’s nothing left to find, is there?”

Natasha’s silence spoke volumes, and he sighed again, turning into a half sob partway through.

“Come back to the tower,” she murmured, soothing her thumb over the back of his hand. “Take a while to get it together while I figure out some leads.”

His heart was pounding in his chest, lungs heaving, muscles aching, all singing for him to say _No_ , _I have to find my mate_.

But he needed the downtime. He could practically hear Sam’s voice:

_“You could use some downtime, man. You’re gonna run yourself into the ground.”_

“Two weeks,” he mumbled with resignation. “That’s – that’s the longest I’ll take.”

“It’s enough.”

 

 

 

He ballooned larger and larger still.

Where only weeks ago he could comfortably lie on his back, that was no longer a viable option. Where he used to be able to see his own toes, now he couldn’t. Neither of those things were particularly fun for a reformed brainwashed assassin.

Especially not-fun was the even less than stellar conditions under which he was kept following his attempt at escape; from an apartment into a literal cell. From almost gourmet meals to slop like he was in prison. From almost caring staff (about the baby), there was an even colder detachment.

Only Cho had remained constant, even after the first time he saw her again. She’d had yellow and purple bruises across her face and arms. He’d found it difficult to look at her until she had promised him that the only thing that mattered to her was his freedom, even if it came at the cost of her own. She knew, of course, that had he escaped, he’d no doubt have sent reinforcements, Steve or Tony or perhaps Natasha, to collect her personally.

Even so, the guilt still tugged at his stomach, and there wasn’t much he could do about that other than live with it.

At twenty six weeks, he couldn’t think of any way to escape. The bars were adamantium. The walls were reinforced. He couldn’t squeeze through the gaps.

He had nothing. No way of escape, and they certainly wouldn’t let him out of his cell.

More than once, the overwhelming feeling of failure and fear left him silently sobbing into his rock-bed. How could he be – be almost seven months pregnant with his and Steve’s son, and the alpha had no idea?

He’d felt the bond fade, a dull ache more than the blinding pain he’d experienced at first. If he hadn’t been pregnant, he’d have gone into a full-blown bond withdrawal. He was lucky that there had been no effects on the pregnancy – Steve’s mother had gone into early labour after his father’s and mother’s bond had broken by his death. That, of course, was more traumatic and sudden than an extended period of time apart, but he would take whatever fortune fate shot his way.

Until he had awoken one morning, to the feeling of – of _something_ in his underwear, almost, but not quite the consistency of slick. No, instead he had peeked inside to see, to his horror, a slimy, _crimson_ spattering of blood.

“Oh my God,” he whimpered, already trembling, vision already blurring at the edges with tears.  He had no choice, oh _God_ , he had no choice but to- “He – help – plea-se,” he hiccupped, already overwhelmed and tears pouring down his face. He didn’t know what was happening, if his son was okay-

“ _Sergeant Barnes, we are not gullible enough to fall for this trick. Please calm down,”_ came a different doctor’s voice through the speakers in his cell. He hadn’t heard the first’s in months.

“I’m _bleeding_!” he screamed, hyperventilating, breath coming too quickly too harshly. “Please – _I think I’m losing my son,_ please-”

He continued to _beg_ , plead, even as he was wiping away at his cheeks, wadding up toilet paper and trying to figure out just how much blood he was losing.

 _Not my son_ , he begged to whatever deities existed in the universe far more complex than he had ever expected. From Thor to whatever fucking god of _rainbows_ , he prayed, begged, and needed his son to be okay. He’d done nothing wrong.

He didn’t even register the bars creaking open, the rush of footsteps as they surrounded him, only the frantic voices, the forceful tug of hands on his skin as he was pushed onto a gurney, still thrashing. He didn’t even try to fight them, even though he was unrestrained. They pushed him into a sterile white room almost identical to the one in which he had first awoken.

He didn’t fight them as they stripped his lower half and called to one another in words he didn’t know the meaning of.

“What’s happening?” he tried to ask, hoarse and unrelenting and – and terrified.

“Knock him out-” one of them snapped. “I can’t have him crying out while I’m trying to save the kid.”

“Stop the labour _first_ ,” a nurse called back, scathing and irritated. “A preterm infant is of little more use than a _dead_ one-”

“My son – he’s not-” he gasped, only able to latch onto part of the conversation he was hearing.

“For God’s sake, _put him out_!”

“He’s gonna be okay-?” he didn’t even register the words they were saying, babbling, repeating the same words over and over, even as a mask settled over his face. He breathed in the gas from the mask as fast as his racing breaths could allow, light-headedness overcoming him and making his head loll towards the open door. His eyelids drooped, even as he continued to whisper, barely audible. Before he could pass out, he caught a lithe woman’s figure at the door, mouthing _I’m sorry_ before she was gone.

Blackness settled onto his consciousness like a fog.

 

Waking up, that same fog buzzed about his head like an irritating bug. His eyelids were still heavy as he opened them, blinking slowly to try to get his bearings. The flood of memories from that very morning (or had time passed again?) had his lids snapping open with more strength than he thought he possessed. He turned his gaze sharply to his abdomen, seeing –

Seeing the pregnant bulge still present, protruding over the hospital-like gown he had on. Was his son – was he still -?

He felt a tap on the inside of his stomach. Shaking, he moved one hand down to tap back at the very spot, nervously waiting to see if it had been a trick of his mind, or if –

 _Kick_. It had been a kick. Strong, and – and _fast_ , and just like the other times his son had been making his presence known. His son was _okay_ , _alive_. He just sobbed out in relief, twisting onto one side and curling up tightly, hands pressed to his stomach so that nothing could tear them apart, not ever. The very idea that he might have lost his son – it made him want to _choke_. To heave. To – to burn the world down if it meant keeping his son safe.

He had no idea what they’d done to save his son, but for the first and possibly _only_ time, he was grateful. They needed his son full-term, not premature, if he had been going into labour, they had stopped it. If he had been losing his son, they had saved him.

 _“-oss heard about it, he’s not happy,_ ” came a woman’s voice, one that was only just familiar enough for him to connect it to any one of the doctors or nurses that had been with him when he…

 _“He wouldn’t be_ ,” a man snarled. _“If he’d lost the baby, do you know who it would have come down on?_ ”

 _“You, sir,”_ she replied, oddly weak for a voice he had heard arrogantly dictate others’ exact moves. _“We’re sorry, we – we don’t know what happened, we think that it was a polyp. He has an enhanced metabolism, his hormones probably didn’t help the matter -whatever damage may have been healed by—”_

_“You’re damn right it would have come down on me. This kid is the only lab rat we got.”_

_“I thought he was entertaining the possibility of-”_ she hesitated then, cutting herself off, and he could just imagine her peering at the surroundings. “ _Of further…_ ”

 _“He doesn’t think it’ll work. Not with a_ normal _alpha, at least._ ” The man’s voice sneered, and did he know that voice? He felt like he should have known that voice, but couldn’t place it. _“He’s got eyes on Rogers, but he’s a mess. Can you believe it, ‘World’s greatest alpha’, a sobbing weakling because his mate’s gone. Pathetic.”_

Bucky froze on his side, facing the brick wall of his cell and breathing slowing to an almost silent whisper. Steve. They were talking about _Steve_ , and he was a _mess_? What did that mean – had their bond broken? He’d hardly felt it, if it had, only felt it dwindle and fade, but Steve must have been devastated…

_“You know what the boss is thinking?”_

_“That keeping Barnes in a cell is probably going to worsen his stress levels and mental state?”_

_“He’s not that smart, Harper. No, he’s thinking that if he can lay out an obvious enough trail, he can lead Rogers straight to us.”_

Bucky went cold. They didn’t just want him anymore, didn’t want his _son_. The two of them weren’t enough – they wanted his _mate_ , too? The worst of it, if they left a trail, no matter _how_ obvious it was that it was a trap, he’d follow it. God help him, Steve was stupid and reckless enough to follow a dangerous lead on the off chance it got him nearer to Bucky.

 _“That’s – that’s_ dangerous _, sir, if – if he comes, he could bring them_ all- _”_

 _“You think I don’t know that? You think he_ cares _?”_ He heard an angry puff of air. “ _The way he sees it, the more of them he gets, the more_ control _he has. It’s a good thing he doesn’t want to be president, or he’d be one hell of a dictator._ ”

 _“What are we supposed to_ do _?”_ she hissed in response. _“The doctor made her way out in the confusion of this morning, if he finds out – which he_ will _– we’ll have no power over him_.”

“ _Then find her. Keep his interactions with others to a_ minimum. _I can’t let this whole plan get blown to hell just because he gets wind of this.”_

_“… Yes sir.”_

 

Cho escaped? That had been her as he faded into unconsciousness, who had mouthed an apology he didn’t understand, who had finally found an opportunity to be safe and free, and in doing so –

In doing so, she might have given him a chance too.

“It’s okay,” he whispered quietly, barely audible even to himself as his son kicked again at his stomach, seeming to sense his distress. “Shh, it’s okay… I’m gonna get us out of here, okay? I’m – I’m gonna keep you safe…”

They weren’t going to tell him anything about what had happened that day – from what had gone wrong with _him_ , to Cho’s escape, but it didn’t matter, he already knew. The man’s fears were becoming reality because Bucky swore to himself that he was _definitely_ going to screw everything up, and get out.

He had to.

 

The only good thing that came of that terrifying situation, where he genuinely feared the loss of his son, was that he knew there was only one way to exploit them. Unfortunately, it meant exploiting his unborn son, too, but he had to in order to keep him safe.

He couldn’t be the man who cried wolf; he had to be the Winter Soldier. He had to _be_ the wolf; Cho had escaped, without anyone noticing until possibly hours later. That meant that there was a relatively straightforward escape path from the compound he was kept in, and _that_ meant that if he could just eliminate all of the hostiles quickly enough he could escape. Last time he was unprepared. Sloppy. Stupid. 

Now he was desperate, downright idiotic, and _prepared_.

If something were to ‘go wrong’ with his pregnancy, he’d be rushed out of his cell quicker than he could cry wolf. Last time they hadn’t bothered to restrain him, hold him down, nothing. Only knock him out when he became hysterical.

All he had to do was fake another episode, though perhaps not _bleeding_ , as that might have been too suspicious to do twice. No, one of the doctors had said, words that chilled him to his very bones now that his son was safe, _‘A preterm infant is of little more use than a dead one_ ’.

If he went into labour too soon…

Well. He’d imagine that they’d do whatever it took to stop _that_.

 

When he was nine years old, his mother had gone into labour with his youngest sister, Margaret (died six months before the battle of New York). The snow outside at the time meant he was home from school, and his mother couldn’t call for a doctor, not when she would need to pay handsomely for the visit in that weather. Instead, Bucky had slid out when she hadn’t noticed and fetched Steve’s mother, who had been more than happy to aid his mother in the birth, as had Bucky. He’d held his mother’s hand through it all, since his father was at work and unable to be reached for hours yet. It was more than likely that that was where his appreciation for children had stemmed from; where the ordeal would traumatise many children as young as he, it had only fascinated him.

That was where he first learned that labour was not like he expected, and very much unlike the modern media’s portrayal of it.

So, two weeks after the incident, where his only interactions were with his unborn son and the person who passed his meals, he faked his first contraction.

A wince and a furrowed brow of confusion before passing it off with a shrug was enough. Planting the seed of doubt in whomever was watching was integral.

He waited several hours before doing just the same, except with a hiss between his teeth, doubling over.

There was no response from his captors until the third time, when he cried out and panted for a long, gruelling thirteen seconds.

“ _Sergeant Barnes, are you alright?_ ” the voice was methodical, emotionless. No tinge of true concern, only a distant annoyance. Bucky knew exactly how to play his cards right.

“Fine,” he forced out through gritted teeth.

 _“You look like you’re in distress_ -”

“Hard kick,” he snapped. “Leave me alone.”

He received no response. Clearly he appeared to be convincing. Good.

He bided his time again, waiting until just after the dimming of the lights in the hallway to gasp loudly and curl in on himself again, panting and whining with exaggerated force. He knew he’d timed everything well, because instantly the lights rose to full brightness, stinging the inside of his lids  as he continued to shudder through the contraction he was faking.

“H-help-” he ground out at last, making sure to inflect his tone with enough disdain and fear to make it believable. “I – I think – he’s coming-”

He continued to shudder and pant, grasping tightly at his stomach and making his eyes flit frantically around the corridor, waiting, waiting, waiting for them to come. Sure enough, they did so, streaming in on both sides, rushed, in scrubs, some annoyed, some angry, some terrified, but quick.

This time, since he was faking, he could see exactly what was going on around him, without fearing for his son’s life. They tugged him onto a gurney, him still writhing in place in an approximation of fear.

This time, he waited until he was almost, _almost_ into that same white room again, the layout infinitely simpler than the other floor he had attempted to escape from. A dead end on one side, a single door on the other. Cho did it without anyone intercepting her; he may have more security around him, but pregnant or not, he was the Winter Soldier.

With his feet only just about to enter the hospital-like room, he suddenly launched off of it, using his almost overbalanced weight to throw the nearest doctor off balance, letting the momentum of his swing kick out the one to his right and landing hard on his bent legs, the flimsy, threadbare clothing they had given him ripping.

There was hardly time to react, since almost as soon as his feet touched the ground, those behind him clamped their hands around his upper arms, outraged by his deceit. Once again, he was an enhanced human, and he just plunged his elbows into their abdomens simultaneously, and, careful of his protruding bump, spun to knee both of them in the faces, sending them sprawling onto the floor, spluttering and coughing.

The others were shocked, rooted in place and having no idea what else to do; they couldn’t swarm him, he was pregnant, and they couldn’t _run_ , because he’d catch them.

He decided for them, hitting the three left behind over the head and letting them crumple to the floor.

Breathing harshly and heavily from a workout he hadn’t had in months, he looked around him apprehensively, listening intently for the sound of footsteps approaching. Nothing came.

So late at night, he suspected, that the majority of staff had just begun to head home; while he had made this mistake in the past, he suspected that because of his round-the-clock supervision in an even sturdier cell, they _had_ let their guard down. There he was, after all, in the middle of the corridor, unconscious bodies strewn over the floor, and nothing watching but the cameras that would only tell the tale when he was long gone.

And so – he ran.

There was no elevator on this floor, only stairs. He chose _up_ and ran, going until he came to the first door out of the stairwell and barging through it, finding –

\- What looked to be an office not unlike the lower levels of Avengers tower, where those who worked for Pepper were based during the day. Had they been keeping him below _offices_?

Did whoever worked here know exactly what went on beneath their floor?

There came an explosion of yelling, a stampede of voices coming from across the room, from the door with a bright sign proclaiming **FIRE EXIT**.

Without thinking, he hurtled himself to one side, towards a narrow corridor that led to a plush, important-looking office and shoved himself inside, locking it behind him for fear of being found. There were no windows here, nowhere else he could run to if they found him.

 He watched as the silhouettes of armed guards raced past, running and yelling and sweeping the floor, clicks of guns as they moved making his pulse race. Softly, he caressed his stomach and whispered only loud enough for himself to hear,

“It’s okay, baby, a little longer and we’ll be out, alright?”

Their brightened suddenly over the office he was hiding him, and he crouched as low as he could manage, away from the glass in the door, letting himself lie as small as he could make himself in the blind spot of the room – behind the desk of whoever worked there.

There came the pounding of footsteps that echoed the beating of his heart. Closing his eyes tightly, he willed them not to open the door; he couldn’t fight all of them, not while pregnant, not if they were armed and he had nothing. The doctors and nurses were unarmed, but there were more of them than him, plus the guards, who were highly trained, he presumed, and armed. He didn’t doubt that at least one of them would turn their weapons on him without hesitation, without a care for his unborn son, without caring if they needed him or not.

The handle rattled and he flinched, only just managing to remain out of sight. The voices, when they came, were muffled.

_“’It’s_ _, he’s gotta be in here-”_

_“We can’t go in there – you_ know _whose office that is, we could get fired for going in there-”_

 _“We could get fired for_ losing his breeder _, I ain’t taking that risk-”_

 _“If we go in there, we won’t just lose our_ job _, we’d lose our_ lives _. You know how much top secret shit Ross k_ _eeps in his office-”_

 Bucky almost, _almost_ whimpered with horror, only just managed to quench the urge in time. _Ross_ , his mind chanted frantically. Ross? General Ross – the man who wanted Bucky imprisoned more than anything?

The man who had been responsible for the synthesis of the serum that left the Hulk overpowering Bruce when his temper became unchecked. Which, Bucky had been told, had been the result of an attempt to recreate Steve’s serum.

And Bucky had arrived on the scene, a second super soldier, an _omega_. Bucky had presented his and Steve’s _son_ to him, pretty much on a silver platter.

In his horrific internal realisation, Bucky missed that the squabble outside of the door begin to fade, and with a start, he realised he had been left completely alone, the flashlights fading outside of the office and leaving him, he suspected, alone.

With the shuddering of his lungs came the wracking sobs of his realisation that if _Ross_ had him, it didn’t matter where he went, be it back to Steve or anywhere in the country, his team would have control over them all.

They’d all signed the Accords. _At any time_ , it had read. _The US Senate has the power to override any and all powers of jurisdiction any and all of the Avengers may possess; in the event this occurs, Gen. Thaddeus Ross (Secretary of State) will take on leadership, effective immediately. Any Avenger found non-compliant will serve a sentence at [ **REDACTED],** to be decided by members of the US Senate._

In other words, Ross had the power to, at any time, call a vote in the Senate, persuading them to give over full power to himself. If he got that power, he could and would ask anything of them. Including the separation of Bucky from his mate, and even from his own son.

None of them could say a damn thing about it.

If he wanted to keep his son…

He’d have to run.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve scratched at the hair on his chin roughly, itching with the desire to shave it off as soon as he stepped foot back in the tower. Natasha had forced him into doing small missions for Shield, to help take his mind off of his long-gone no-longer mate. So far he’d been coerced into three, each lasting at least two weeks (exact duration: classified). Fury was trying to rope him into doing another one so soon, but he’d spent too long away from his hunt for Bucky.

Almost eight months. The last time he’d been away from Bucky for so long, he’d been on the run. Before that, he’d believed him dead.

He’d give _anything_ to find his mate again, the shards of their bond slicing him like a dagger with each sharp memory. Had Bucky given up on him? He admitted that he had, after a long, long time after the fall from the train. Bucky had submitted, had given up hope that his mate would come for him.

Steve refused to let his mate down like that again.

But where the first time, he knew that Bucky had fallen into the ravine, this time was like the last time, where he disappeared without a trace and no way to track him.

When the car arrived outside the tower, he took a deep breath and pulled up his hood, hoping the paparazzi wouldn’t take much notice of him; his beard made it take a little longer to recognise him, so he had that going for him at least. He thundered inside as fast as he could manage with the questioning shouts aimed his way.

 _Where is Sergeant Barnes?_ They asked.

 _What do you think of the Accords?_ They demanded.

He’s seen the headlines. _Winter Soldier accused of treason_ , some said. _US Government searching for Barnes on suspicion of violation of the accords_ , stories told him. Lies, every last one of them.

The government was looking for him, no doubt, but they were in the same boat he was. If he’d been kidnapped, he’d be recovered. If he’d run, he’d be imprisoned (Steve wouldn’t let that happen). When Bucky wasn’t found after the first three months, _other_ coverage began to creep out, suggesting he had been kidnapped (true), or had defected to join neo-Nazis (seriously?).

The door closed and effectively silenced the crowd at his back, soundproof almost to a fault. He made his way to the elevator, hoping Friday would take him straight there, but instead, as those doors closed smoothly, her Irish lilt informed him,

“Sir would like to see you in his lab. Shall I take you there Captain?”

Steve sighed heavily. “I’d rather just go back to my floor.”

“He says you need to hear this.” The elevator jolted, and Steve resigned himself to his fate, scratching again at the whiskers on his face. When the doors opened again, he stepped out and looked around, searching for the (wrong) omega with a frown.

“Tony?”

“-here-” came the genius’ voice, sounding somewhat strained. Steve looked sharply in the direction it was coming from, rolling his eyes at the sight of him lifting a hefty piece of metal to work beneath it.

“Need some help?” he asked blandly.

“No- I’m good,” Tony strained and groaned again as he set the metal down. Steve didn’t ask what it was, nor did he ask what he planned to do with it. He had no doubt he’d find out eventually. “Oh, wow, I asked for _Cap_ , not Caveman America.”

“What did you want, Tony?” he asked wearily. “I have better things to do.”

“Your _better things to do_ will be a whole lot more interesting after this conversation.”

The hairs on the back of Steve’s neck prickled, a little ominous, but forced himself to calm. “Tony.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“We’re not talking about the same thing.”

“We are.”

“Then _start_ talking.”

“We found him.”

Steve went still. “This had better not be a joke, Tony-” he rumbled, standing as tall and as threatening as he could make himself; a stereotypical alpha, he chastised himself internally, but he didn’t care, especially when Tony raised an eyebrow at the movement.

“Well, more accurately, _Friday_ _thinks_ she found him.”

 _“How_?”

“Motels,” Tony began, chattering away as he turned back to the chunk of metal on the table. “two days ago, Friday told me she’d found a series of ‘strange names’ registering at motels all over the good ol’ U-S-of-A.”

“Strange names?” he demanded, wracking his brain for anything that could be incriminating his mate. “Like what?”

“Bruce Barton, Antony Rogers, that’s a funny one, Francis Rushman, Clint Barnes, and my personal favourite, ‘Thor Stark’…. Names to that effect.” He waved them all away. “Variations of names just like that cropping up over the last – what was it, three months?”

“Just over, sir.” Friday confirmed. “If I had been sure of the connection sooner, I’d have alarmed sir sooner, Captain.”

“No-” his words, when they came out, were strangled, breath laboured as the shards of their bond writhed beneath his very skin, aching to break through the bones of his ribcage find his mate. “Where – where is he?”

“Utah. He’s been all over Nevada, Oregon, Washington, right down to New Mexico. Never past Nebraska, though. Only the West coast.”

“I have to-” he stumbled back, blinking harshly in the wake of this earth-shattering revelation. “Tell me _where-”_

“Wait-” Tony turned back to him then, something akin to concern in his eyes and Steve caught his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, as if swallowing something down. “We don’t know if it’s really him. It – it could be whoever caught you trying to pull you into the open-”

“I don’t care,” he shook his head, speaking slowly, passionate and broken. “Tony – I – I haven’t seen him in _months_. If the only way I can see him is to be lured into a trap, at least then I’d know for sure who took him.”

“You’re not going alone,” Tony tried instead. Steve laughed.

“Like hell I’m not. I’m going, Tony. Alone. Tattle on me to Nat all you like, but he is _my_ mate, and his disappearance is on _me_. I’m the one who has to get him back. Tell me where he is.”

Tony’s silence was almost worrying, but the brightness of his eyes, the tick in his jaw clued him into the fact that he would tell Steve, as long as he promised-

“You call Nat,” he seethed “You tell her _everything_ , if not Wilson. I don’t care _who_ , actually, as long as _someone_ knows you’re about to walk right into a trap.”

“I will,” he swore. “I’ll tell you. If no one hears from me for longer than a week? Go looking.”

“Salt Lake City,” Tony responded, and Steve jolted away, emboldened and weak with the knowledge his mate could only be hours from his grasp. “Almost two days’ drive. He could be gone by the time you get there.”

“Then you keep looking,” Steve called back, stepping into the elevator as it opened seamlessly for him. “Tell me where he goes after that.”

 

 

Nesting.

That’s what he was doing. In a motel he’d been forced to stay in for the past four days, one he’d no doubt leave as soon as possible, he was _nesting_. Cleaning, as if this was the home his son would grow in. While it was the first he would stay in, it was certainly no _home_ to be proud of. The cheapest motel he could find, paid for with money stolen from rich-looking folk in the street.

He wasn’t proud of it, but he had to make his way. He couldn’t exactly get a job, not when he was days from giving birth.

 Could he have his son in this _dump_? He couldn’t risk going to a clinic. If – if they were watching him, following him, they might wait until he was born and then take him. But then, he ran that risk anyway. Those names he gave the motels, they were obvious for anyone following the right path. He was surprised that Tony or Natasha hadn’t barged in before then.

It was as he was in the middle of dipping a clean plate into the sink, desperate to clean it again, that he felt _it_. The bond _singing_ beneath his very skin, and while he’d never thought it to be painful, he only noticed the ache after it was gone.

He’d left the door unlocked. Bucky only noticed after it hit the wall with a quiet thud.

He held his breath, back to – to the mate he longed to turn and run toward.

“Buck,” his mate was breathless; Steve must have been feeling the full effects of their ragged bond, frayed in all the wrong places and left only as thin cotton to hold onto one another.

“Steve,” he returned impassively. He didn’t move.

“Just like Bucharest all over again, huh?”

Bucky let his mouth turn up in an unwilling smile.

“You and I remember Bucharest very differently,” he murmured, repeating one of the phrases that Steve said had amused him to no end when he first came out of the ice. Steve seemed to choke behind him, but the noise was happy, as opposed to terrified, so Bucky just swallowed.

“What happened?” Steve asked, stepping forward.

“Don’t move,” he warned him sharply, only turning his face enough to glimpse the alpha in the corner of his eye, red white and blue shield a sight for sore eyes. “Stay right there.”

“Wha-” Steve started, but shook himself. “Okay…” he agreed instead, slow and steady. “Tell me – Bucky, _please_ – I’ve been looking everywhere for even the slightest _trace-”_

Bucky could only sigh. “I made a mistake,” he said blandly, eyes down turned as he slowly wiped down the plate with lukewarm water. _Not clean enough_ , his mind insisted. _It must be perfect._

“What mistake? I – I could have helped you, we all could have-”

“ _Leaving the tower_ was my mistake. I shouldn’t have gone.” Tears threatened to well up in his eyes, and he forced them down. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“What?” Steve hissed, hurt and angry and desperate. He took a step forward, halting when he remembered Bucky’s warning. “No, Buck – _no_ – I need to be here, need to – to see you again.” Bucky sensed the very second Steve realised he hadn’t really seen him, hadn’t seen his face. “Look at me,” he pleaded softly.

He didn’t move, guilt and regret plaguing him. He should have found Steve sooner, he knew that. But it was too late now.

“Bucky,” Steve repeated, a little more insistently again. “I – I haven’t seen you in eight months, please…”

“A lot can happen in eight months.” He replied stiffly.

“Why won’t you turn around?” his mate murmured, confused and desperate. Bucky swallowed.

“You won’t like what you see.”

“I don’t care how much you’ve changed. I don’t care what – what you look like, I wanted you despite everything Hydra did to you, and I want you no matter what – what _they_ did to you.”

“They didn’t do anything to me,” he admitted, wiping his hands dry on a hand towel, getting between the plates of his arm.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Steve asked him, low, almost a whisper. He stepped forward. “Did you run?”

“I’m running,” he sighed cryptically. “But I didn’t run. Steve… a lot has happened, and- and you won’t like it.”

“I loved you in spite of everything Hydra had you do,” Steve repeated, firm and strong, so much more like the man Bucky knew and loved. “I’ll love you no matter what it is you’re not telling me. Now _look_ at me.”

Bucky froze. For a long, eternal moment, he stood contemplating his choices, and he only had one. He couldn’t hide this from his mate. So slowly, almost jolting like a terrified pet, he smoothed his left hand over the bump that Steve couldn’t see, and turned.

 

Steve had always been used to expecting the unexpected. It came with the territory of the job, after all. Join the army? As long as you steroid up. Defeat a Nazi? He’s red. Normal mission? No. Turns out this one has tentacle monsters from out of space that only really want to eat all of the sushi on earth. Dinner with the rest of the team? No, it’s a drinking competition to see if anything can get him drunk.

Fighting the world’s most deadly assassin? It’s his long lost mate.

So he was expecting _something_.

He just certainly _wasn’t_ expecting Bucky to be so pregnant he looked like he was going to burst any second.

“What-?” was all Steve could think to say, blinking and shaking his head as if to clear it of the strange hallucination. “You – you what?”

“I…” Bucky’s eyes turned down to the – the bump that Steve had resigned himself to never seeing on the omega.

“You said you- you said you _couldn’t_ –” he blurted. He realised with a start that he had begun to _shake_ , trembling and panting and – was he hyperventilating?

“I didn’t know,” Bucky swore, shaking his head. “I swear when I told you _I didn’t know_.”

“Is – is this why-” he stumbled over the words, gasping and – why was he panicking over _this_? Shouldn’t he be – be _happy_? “Why you ran-?”

“I didn’t run,” Bucky repeated, almost pleading. “I – Steve, if you calm down, I’ll tell you _everything_ , I promise, just, just _please_ calm down.”

Instead of trying to reply, Steve just dropped his gaze and focused on taking long, deep, drawn out breaths. Bucky seemed to be too nervous to step close to him, pull him into his embrace, and Steve didn’t know if he was grateful or not for that.

It took him longer than it should have to calm down. He should have been rejoicing, embracing his mate as hard as he could manage, because he’d found him again. Instead of healing, however, the serrated bond only shattered further with Steve’s inability to comprehend exactly what was happening.

In a matter of moments, he’d gone from being a recipient of a broken bond, to one with an unborn child.

“Tell me _everything_ ,” Steve growled still standing rooted to his spot. Bucky licked his lips, eyes wary.

“When I was sick, all those months ago, I thought I was pregnant. When you went for a run with Sam… I went to the store. Went to a café to take them, just to be sure… I assume you know what happened after.”

“You were taken,” his voice trembled. “But why?”

Bucky shifted uncomfortably on his feet, something so odd for Steve to see as it had been uncommon before, and the movement added to the out of place stomach on his frame was like he had entered the uncanny valley; this looked like his mate, had his face, his voice, the other half of his torn bond, but everything else screamed that Bucky truly was different.

“They wanted him.” He confessed quietly.

“Who?” Steve demanded, tensing. “Tony? Sam? _Who?_ ”

“Our son,” Bucky whispered, metal hand tensing on his stomach as he swallowed. “Right from the start, they wanted our kid, before they even knew he existed.”

Steve wanted to vomit. Why would they want a _child_? Let alone _Bucky’s_. the very idea had his lips curling in distaste, shuddering.

“But you got out?” Steve murmured. “Three months ago? Why did you keep running?”

“I had to,” Bucky replied, shaking his head and brows furrowed as if Steve was an idiot for not understanding. “They had me for _months_ , Steve, if I went back they’d know exactly where to find me.”

“Who is _‘they_ ’?” Steve almost yelled, confused and lost, and this wasn’t quite how he imagined their reunion. “You keep saying _they_ like I should know who _they_ are. Is it _Hydra?_ If it is, you _know_ that-”

“ _Ross,_ ” Bucky snarled, grimacing and tensing on the spot. That pulled Steve up short. “General _fucking_ Ross kidnapped me and wanted to steal our damn son to raise his own super soldier. Happy?”

With every word, the urge to throw up only grew, twisting his stomach the wrong way. No wonder he hadn’t gone back. Ross could and _would_ do anything to take the baby. Public or not, he’d find a way, if not _make_ one.

The tension slid from Steve’s body in one fell swoop, taking with it his energy. He had to step back and take a seat on the lone bed in the motel, lumpy and uncomfortable. He propped the shield against the mattress.

“Steve?” Bucky asked cautiously. “Are you…”

“Okay?” Steve laughed a little manically. “Not really. Just been told that my missing mate is nine months pregnant and on the run from the person who is both my boss and a member of the US Government.”

Bucky sighed, leaning back against the counter, staring warily at the man he imagined being reunited with a thousand times.

“Do you understand why I couldn’t go home?”

“You could have called me.” Steve responded, subdued. “Or even _Nat_ , or anyone. Any one of us would have come and – and –” He stopped, shaking his head.

“And risked every last one of you being sent to the Raft.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“I do.” Bucky shot back, forlorn. “I can handle myself. I fought my way out when I was six months pregnant, I’m sure I can manage everything after.”

“Did you ever _plan_ to come home?” Steve muttered, sounding almost betrayed. Bucky remained silent. “Did you?”

“I don’t know.” Bucky confessed.

“That – _Jesus_ , Buck! If Friday hadn’t figured out this connection, then – then I might never have found you! Or I’d have found you in – in three, four years’ time with a _kid_.” His gaze flickered uneasily down towards the enormous protrusion on his mate’s stomach. “How could you just… just _leave_?”

“I was trying to keep us all _safe_ ,” Bucky argued, defensive and angry, “If I’d gone back they’d have taken our son, they’d have put _all_ of you in prison, I…” He clenched his jaw. “You would do _exactly_ the same. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t.”

At that, Steve fell silent. He would have, and that was the most excruciating part. If it meant keeping Bucky and the rest of his friends safe, he’d run for the rest of his life

The uneasiness of the silence seemed to unnerve Bucky a little, but he didn’t say anything more, instead massaging his bump and waiting for Steve to speak up. He at least owed his mate that.

 

It took a long while for Steve to sort through the multitude of issues racing across his mind like a champion greyhound. His mind was still stumbling over the fact that he was going to become a father any day now, too preoccupied with the knowledge that Bucky had been in _danger_ , caused by the one person who Steve had expected, despite the man’s reservations, to uphold the law. His blood was boiling with the desire to chase him down and wring his neck for everything he’d done to Bucky, for making him believe he had been to blame, when in fact, it had all been Ross. When he held that meeting, he knew exactly where Bucky had been.

“So,” Steve said at last, voice hoarse from anxiety. “When are… when is…” he swallowed, gesturing a hand vaguely in the direction of Bucky’s stomach.

“He’s late,” Bucky replied softly, an almost fond, exasperated sigh. Steve somewhat bristled; Bucky had only ever used that tone with _him_ , something he took pride in.

“What do you mean _late_?”

Bucky gave him an odd look, tilted to the side and smile curled up in empty amusement, as if he _should_ be amused, but couldn’t quite get there.

“He was due… almost a week ago.” He looked down and half-laughed. “Maybe he was waiting for dad.”

Steve had to try harder than he expected to quell the strong urge to choke at that word. _Dad_. Every instinct in his body urged him to flee.

He swallowed, pushing past before Bucky noticed his discomfort. “You… you keep saying _he,_ do you know for _sure..?”_

Bucky looked conflicted for a moment, still having remained in the kitchen area of the small motel room. “Yeah,” he murmured at last. “Cho told me.”

Steve snapped his gaze to Bucky’s face, alarmed and eyes wide. “Cho? She was with you?”

He sighed as he nodded. “I don’t know where she is now. She got out not long before I did, she could be anywhere. She’s laying low, at least.”

“Bruce was worried,” Steve murmured. “He’ll be so relieved when we-”

“No!” Bucky blurted loudly, startling Steve out of the beginning of his ramble. The alpha blinked, confused again. All this information was starting to hurt his head.

“What do you mean no? We’ve – we have to go _home_ Buck.” He smiled and tilted his head, searching his mate’s face and faltering when he found something totally different.

“We can’t,” Bucky insisted, nervously rubbing at the bulge of his stomach. “They’ll find us.”

“So?” he laughed again, becoming a little more hysterical. “We can keep you _safe_ -”

“What do you mean, ‘ _so_ ’?” Bucky demanded, outraged. “You just found out that the people who – who _kidnapped_ me did it to get to _our_ son, and you don’t care about that? They’ll take our _son_ at the first chance they get.” He spat. “Ross works for the _government,_ Steve, if he wants something, he could get it a thousand different ways. That includes our son.”

Our son. Bucky said _our son_ three times, and the words were going in one ear, and out of the other. He was hearing the words, but wasn’t understanding them.

“So we can’t go home,” Steve surmised, lip curling back slightly. “I take it that means we can’t tell anyone else about this either?”

“No.” Bucky said again emphatically. “Not until we – we figure out what to do, okay?”

“Until we get rid of Ross.” Steve muttered under his breath. “Right. Simple. I have to call Natasha.”

“You-” Bucky started to argue, face already reddening slightly. Steve put up a hand.

“I _mean_ that I need to tell her this was a dead lead,” he almost hissed. “Keep her off the trail, at least for now.”

Bucky hummed lowly, settling back against the counter with a suspicious look. “That’s all she can know.” he murmured. Steve nodded, pulling himself to his feet and leaving theroom.

As soon as the motel door closed behind him, he took a deep, startled gasp, swallowing harshly. He kept moving quickly, back to his haphazardly parked car, and yanked the door open. He fumbled for his phone, one that he’d have to dispose of immediately after calling, and searched for one of the only three numbers programmed into it.

She picked up after three rings. _“Rogers,”_ she said smoothly. “ _Have you got him?”_

“No,” his voice trembled, and he hoped that she attributed it to whatever failure he would have felt if he hadn’t found Bucky. “Turns out that Grant Buchanan is in Utah visiting friends.”

“ _Steve_ ,” her voice was a sad sigh. “ _I told you that you shouldn’t put all your eggs in one basket. We can still keep looking.”_

“I’m going to trace back all of his last supposed movements,” he told her, swallowing harshly. “All the motels, I need to check them… make sure there’s nothing we’ve missed.”

_“Okay, Steve. As soon as I’m back in the US I’ll get what I can from Tony and conduct my own search.”_

“We can’t let it reach a year,” he told her, hoping to god he was pulling it off. “I can’t let it get to a year.”

 _“We won’t._ ” she promised, and her voice had never been so firm or full of assurance. He almost felt bad for lying to her, but she was a spy. She understood his choice better than he did, and she didn’t even know about it. “ _Now trash the phone. Break it, make sure no one can trace it or you, understand?_ ”

“Yeah,” he assured her, and hung up the phone. For a long moment, he stared at it before, with a sudden burst of great frustration, he clenched his fist, barely wincing as the cheap plastic of the burner phone dug into his skin. When he opened his hand, it was little more than a pile of chunks and dust.

With the phone went his last chance of trying to understand exactly what he had forced himself into.

 

When he found the courage in himself to see his mate again, he was first struck with the piercing shriek of Bucky in pain. He was on his guard in an instant, half wishing he had his shield in hand.

“Bucky?” he called, alarmed as he whipped around the door to catch sight of Bucky grimacing at the counter, one hand tightly grasping it, the other flexed painfully over his stomach. “Bucky!”

The omega hissed out a sharp, slow breath. “’m okay,” he insisted, closing his eyelids tightly enough that wrinkles bunched up at the edges. He took another deep, harsh breath before breathing back out. “Looks like that answers _that_ question.”

“What question?” Steve demanded, still on the defensive, half ready to curl into an offensive crouch.

“When he’s coming,” Bucky responds, just as determined and challenging. “I’m in labour.”


	7. Chapter 7

Hours. That was how long Steve had to come to terms with the fact that, one, he had his mate back; two, his mate had been kidnapped; three, Bucky was _pregnant_ the whole time; and finally, that his _son_ was only hours more from being born.

Despite everything people knew about Steve Rogers, the man to never back away from a fight, to challenge death and win… All he wanted to do was _run_. Like some old, long since slumbering fight-or-flight instinct had finally awakened, flickering the switch from permanently on fight to dancing over flight.

“I know you said you wanted kids, before all this.” Bucky’s voice was almost hollow, nervous. “I… I hope you still do. Even though I said we never could.”

“I do,” he responded instantly, though more out of – of self-preservation than genuine instinct, than being honest and truthful. _Did_ he still want kids? He’d resigned himself to never having them, was that the same thing? “Of course I do.”

It could have been a testament to how distracted Bucky was, or how much their bond had faded, as Bucky only fluttered his eyes closed in relief, exhaling a pleasant sigh.

“Good,” he murmured. “I… I’ve missed you.”

Steve swallowed. _Why didn’t you come home then?_ “I missed you too,” he said instead. He cleared his throat nervously, shooting a glance down at Bucky’s stomach, knowing that in a matter of hours, the child would be _born_. “You… uh, you’re having a – a _boy_.” He swallowed again. he hadn’t been such a nervous wreck since the first time he and Bucky had gotten together a century ago.

“Yeah,” Bucky confirmed once again. “You always said you wouldn’t know what to do with a girl.”

“Right,” he replied faintly. Words even _he_ didn’t remember, from a whole different world ago. “What are you – do you have a name? For – for him?”

Bucky sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t. It… it almost felt wrong to give him a name. Guess part of me really was waiting for you, huh?”

Steve stiffened, trying to hide his stoic expression, the way the words just didn’t seem to reverberate right in his mind. “You wanted, what, me to help name him?”

“Yeah,” Bucky whispered, almost sadly. “He’s your son. Even though… even though I ran, I still knew you should at least have _that_. Was probably gonna name him after your dad.”

“Joseph’s a fine name.” he responded, sounding robotic to even his own ears. Bucky sighed, and, for a second, he feared Bucky was going to realise exactly what Steve was thinking. They’d always been able to practically read one another’s thoughts.

 “You don’t like the name,” he hummed instead, and Steve wasn’t sure if he was relieved or not. “That’s fine – _ah, fuck_ -” Steve was on his feet in an instant, before freezing when he realised it was yet another contraction.

“M’okay,” Bucky repeated after a minute. “Won’t… won’t be long now.”

“Okay,” Steve said, still standing, but even more at a loss for what to do.

What was he going to do?

 

“Bucky this – you’re in a _lot_ of pain – we should go to a hospital,” Steve tried to reason frantically as Bucky was writhing on the bed on top of at least three towels. Bucky could handle a hell of a lot of pain – seven decades of torture tended to do that to a person – but if he was in _this_ much pain…

“I’m _fine_ ,” Bucky hissed, panting. “I’ve had worse, it’s just – it keeps going.”

“I don’t know how to deliver a fucking _baby_ ,” Steve growled back. “I don’t know if any of this – this _blood_ or – or this _pain_ is normal, we need a _professional_ -”

“A _professional_ could rat us out to fucking Ross,” Bucky grit his teeth, hands tightening on the bedsheets next to his hips that weren’t covered by towels. “And it’s fucking _normal_ , alright? Christ – childbirth ain’t quick and clean, it’s _messy_ and painful and just keeps on fucking going…”

“Bucky,” he lowered his voice, trying to hide the tinge of hysteria to his voice. Why wasn’t he listening to reason? “ _Please_ – you’ve got to know – you remember, remember Janie Parton? Who lived opposite your sister?”

“Steve,” Bucky groaned, rolling his head back onto the bed and closing his eyes. “Don’t bring that up – not now, _please_ -”

“That’s the point I _need_ to make, because you’re not listening! She – she _died_ because she gave birth just like this-”

“In a time where there _was_ no sterilisation of the house,” Bucky retorted.

“You think this shithole is _sterile_?” he asked, incredulous. “This place is _teeming_ with bacteria and –”

“We are _not_ going to the hospital, and if you try to force me, I will knock you the fuck out, in labour or _not_!” he finally roared, staring at his mate with such a determined fire to his eyes, one that he hadn’t seen since Zemo had triggered him, that he backed off with a gulp, resisting the strong urge to back away from him.

“Okay,” he whispered, voice almost trembling as he dropped his gaze. “Okay.”

“Steve…” Bucky lowered his voice after a moment. “It’s gonna be okay, he’s… he’s gonna be just fine. So am I. But – and this is a _huge_ but – but if I’m _not_ okay-”

“Bucky-” he tried to interrupt, voice hoarse with the idea of losing his mate _again,_ far too many times for one lifetime, but Bucky wouldn’t listen.

“If I’m not okay – you have to promise me – promise me you’ll take him and just go.”

Steve’s stomach went as cold as ice. “No.” he said instantly, the very idea of leaving Bucky behind sickening him. “No, I won’t-”

“Steve, _please_ ,” Bucky turned his gaze to the ceiling. “His life matters more than mine does. Especially with everything I’ve done. He’s a kid, innocent. All he’s done is be our son.”

“That’s not true,” he replied immediately, before freezing after he’d said the words. Bucky _loves_ this kid just as much as he loved Steve. Or, his own traitorous mind suggested, _more_ , since he’d willingly gone on the run to keep him from Steve. “I can’t leave you after I just got you back-” he tried to salvage, but Bucky just chuckled, though it was a little strained.

“Steve, it’s not going to happen _anyway_. But if it does, if _something_ happens, now or later, you have to take him. You have to run. Please.” His eyes were so _soft_ when they looked at Steve, and he hadn’t seen his mate so vulnerable, so desperate despite his complete confidence in his safety.

“Okay,” he whispered, but shook his head. His head ached, knowing that if it came down to it, to a choice between Bucky and his own son… “I’ll do it,” he lied.

“Thank you,” Bucky seemed to almost, _almost_ relax then, assured, before tensing. “Steve – I – I think I need to push—”

Steve gulped. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real. “Okay, okay – just –”

But Bucky was already straining biting back a scream as he bore down, clearly in an extreme amount of pain. It was _horrifying_ to see, since Steve had long since sworn to stop Bucky from ever hurting again. Just seeing his mate’s face purple and red from the need to breathe and be away from all this pain made him want to detest this – this _parasite_ that was sucking away the life Bucky was so freely giving him.

But that ‘parasite’ was his son.

Bucky stopped after an appallingly long moment, panting and whining as he relaxed onto the bed. “Okay,” he murmured weakly. “You – you gotta get his – him some clothes, in the closet, I got some clothes, a blanket, get him…”

“Okay,” Steve whispered, blinking as the pseudo-order gripped onto his mind so he had something else to focus on than the desire to vomit. The closet, indeed, was almost half filled with tiny, tiny baby-grows, some bigger than others as if Bucky had prepared for different sizes, or the growth of the baby. Now that he thought about the baby growing up…

He shook himself, reaching for the topmost onesie, a pale blue colour, and a yellow blanket, rushing to put it at Bucky’s side. He placed his flesh hand atop the blanket and closed his eyes, letting his face twist as he thought that in only a matter of hours, a small child would lie inside it.

When it came to Bucky pushing again, Steve could only stand and gape as he watched possibly one the most horrific, natural things he’d ever seen. How Bucky had _ever_ wanted this, he couldn’t understand.

And – only a moment after its bulbous head started crowning – the whole thing came squirming out, a shrill cry piercing the air and making Steve flinch with both surprise and horror. It was, undoubtedly, a boy, and his tiny limbs were flailing, ashen and white, as his mouth was wide as he cried.

“Oh my-” Bucky shuddered, but there was a pained smile on his face. “Give him – Steve – give him to me, I need to have him-”

Trying to ignore the out-of-place revulsion he felt that he knew stood in place of love he _should_ feel, he darted forward. Carefully, slowly, he took the topmost towel and, pink cord and all, wrapped the screaming, flailing child in it. With imperceptibly shaking arms, he slowly gave the bundle to his mate.

The omega was instantly taken with him, laughing in a way that was almost a painful sob, since he was probably _still_ in pain, murmuring words quietly the tiny thing that was calming with every passing moment, pressing his tiny nose into his father’s neck.

“We’re gonna take good care of you, baby,” Bucky whispered, cheeks wet with tears. “Oh, we’re gonna take such good care of you…”

But Steve could only stare on at the child that was supposed to be his with a growing feeling of detachment, numbness, cold.

He felt nothing for his own son.


	8. Chapter 8

Breaking into a hospital was a lot easier than Steve expected it to be. He had to get rid of the cord and the placenta, after all. Not to mention he needed to get away from – from everything.

From the tiny thing he felt nothing for, other than distaste and mild confusion when it cried. Needed to get away from that guilt, of knowing that if Bucky knew how he felt, he’d no doubt leave again. Needed to get away from Bucky’s quiet mumblings to a child that didn’t understand anything he was saying.

What was wrong with him, he wondered absently as he dropped the plastic bag into a box labelled ‘ **BIOHAZARD’**. He’d wanted children almost as long as Bucky had, even though he hadn’t physically _wanted_ to have any on the off chance they’d be like him. Sick.

Would that boy be sick because of _him_? That horrific thought at least made him feel something for the boy, even if it was only limited to guilt. By modern terms, Steve had been chronically ill in the Thirties and Forties, which, by his own reasoning, left him sterile. It would have been better for everyone if his sickly genes weren’t passed on. What if Bucky had to take care of a sick child, just as his mother had done for Steve?

As he slipped out of the window, he had to try to ignore the ache in his chest at the thought. His mother had worked so hard to keep him healthy. She’d run herself into the ground. He didn’t want to lose Bucky that way.

The drop to the ground was a little higher than he probably should have attempted, but he rolled into it and walked it off with only a healing pain in his ankles. Hospitals shouldn’t really be so easy to break into, even if he was one of the good guys. He just as easily could have been a bad one. He should probably talk to someone about that once he got Bucky somewhere safe.

Speaking of safe, there was a car to his eight o’clock that had been following him since halfway to the hospital (in the next town over. He wasn’t stupid. Natasha would be proud of him.)

Steve had to get back _without_ the car he’d arrived in somehow, as that was his most identifying feature.

He’d figure something out.

 

Turned out his best plan involved stealing the very car that was shadowing him. Well it _worked_. It just meant he’d have to switch cars again almost immediately, but it was fun to watch the guy’s expression turn from determined to shit-scared in a matter of seconds.

The drive back to the motel room was quick, since he was speeding, but Steve had super-soldier reflexes, so he’d be fine. He just needed to let his mate know they were being tracked.

“Buck.” He thundered the door open, realising too late that it might disturb the tiny new addition to the room, but fortunately the boy didn’t stir. His father, however, did, blinking up tiredly at the alpha, holding the little bundle in his yellow blanket tightly.

“Where’d you go?” he asked tiredly, yawning, turning his gaze onto his son and smiling at whatever it was he saw. “You left, didn’t notice.”

“Had to take that stuff to the hospital,” he said stiffly, rushing over to the closet and pulling everything out of it. “We need to leave. Now.”

“What?” Bucky asked, more alert, alarmed. “What’s going on? Do they know where we are?”

“They know we’re nearby,” he responded roughly. “Drove to the next town’s hospital, was followed by some guy in a car.”

“You lose him?” Bucky demanded, carefully getting to his feet, though uneasy and carefully, ensuring the boy didn’t wake.

“Stole his car. We need to steal another one.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. “Okay, you go, I’ll get all this stuff together. You need to get a car seat.”

Steve froze, turning a disbelieving expression onto his mate. “We’re in what’s essentially a life or death situation, and you want to stop to get a _car seat_?”

“Yes!” Bucky hissed. “A car seat is the _easiest_ way to keep our son safe in the car if we’re in some kind of accident. Stop wasting time and just go.”

Steve strongly resisted the urge to growl, but obeyed, leaving the motel without a second thought as to which direction he would go, nor what car he would steal.

He decided on a Ford, since they were dime a dozen all over the country, and easy enough to steal he could do it in his sleep if he wanted. So he broke into the thing with one of those cheap tricks in every movie where a bad guy steals a car (because it _worked,_ okay?) and hauled it into the nearest 24-hour store, racing against the clock to find even the most basic car seat. With his hood pulled up, he bought the first one he saw (a hundred dollars? seriously?) and left without the cashier taking any sort of notice to him whatsoever. By the time he got back to the motel room, Bucky had already dragged three duffels full of things onto the sidewalk, rocking the whining infant nervously.

“You ready to go?” Steve breathed, picking up all three with no effort whatsoever. Bucky nodded. “The seat’s in the trunk, I’ll set it up in a second.”

Bucky just continued to stare anxiously around them, arms tightening almost imperceptibly around his son, who seemed to sense his distress. “Shh, baby,” he soothed quietly. “We’ll keep you safe.”

Steve clenched his jaw and shot an uneasy look towards the boy. He was going to give them away, Steve thought, regretting it the instant it passed to the forefront of his mind. But he was. A child, screaming, crying, all hours of the day while they were on the run? A recipe for disaster. He closed the trunk quietly, thinking that slamming it, as he felt like doing it, wouldn’t have ended well with Bucky.

The car seat was assembled in only a few minutes, scanning the simple instructions and securing it in with a belt.

“Okay, it’s done,” he told his mate, who rushed forward to the open door to inspect it, making a single adjustment on how flat it was. He then carefully put the bundled boy, bathed in blankets, into the car seat, taking extra time they really, _really_ didn’t have to make sure he was flat and secure.

“Okay,” Bucky breathed, closing the door gently, and searching about the parking lot for anything suspicious, bathed in orange-crimson dawn. As he made his way over to the other side, it was the first time that Steve noticed he was limping.

“Buck, you all right?” he asked, slightly rushed as he got into the driver’s seat. To his surprise, Bucky didn’t get in next to him, instead opening the rear passenger side and sitting there, wincing as he went.

“Yeah, I… It still hurts a little.” He sighed, body angled towards the car seat. “I’ll heal.”

“It must be bad if you aren’t already healed,” Steve pointed out roughly, starting up the car and reversing out of the spot. “Which means we should have gone to the hospital.”

“Steve, _normal_ people take months to heal from this. I’ll take a few weeks, probably.”

Steve fell silent then with a low swallow, too concerned with the decision of which way to turn, where to go, and how long they should keep running.

 

“What do you think of the name Michael?” Bucky murmured quietly a few hours into their drive. Steve’s hands tightened on the wheel.

“It’s a nice enough name,” he replied stiffly. Bucky exhaled.

“It’s okay if you don’t like the names, Steve. We can figure something out that we both like.” He almost felt guilty to hear the smile in Bucky’s voice, to hear the near-floating contentment that meant he was happy. Steve had wanted that back for almost a year, and now that he _had it…_ it was because of a child that Steve just couldn’t bring himself to want.

“Yeah, okay.” Steve replied with a slight cough.  He flit his eyes up to the rear-view mirror. “Is… uh, is he okay?”

“He’s fine.” Bucky smiled, using one finger to gently pull at the blanket by his face. “Sleeping like an angel.”

They crossed the border into Colorado without any issues, with Steve checking the mirrors every few minutes to see if they were being followed.

Eventually, he deemed it safe enough to pull into a motel that looked okay enough, with hardly any cars in the lot.

“I’ll get us a room,” Bucky murmured, blinking exhaustion from his eyes. “You go to a store nearby, see if you can get some baby stuff. Crib, diapers, bottles, formula, stuff like that. Only got enough to last us a week or two. Grab a couple burners, too.”

“Okay,” Steve agreed, watching as he slowly, carefully unbuckled the seat from the car and got out, cooing gently to make sure the boy didn’t put up too much of a fuss. “Keep an eye out for when I get back, alright?” he asked as Bucky opened the trunk.

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed absently as he closed the trunk. When he was a safe distance away, Steve peeled out of the parking lot in search of the nearest convenience store.

 It didn’t prove to be very hard, since Walmart was only a few blocks away. Finding the _baby_ aisle proved to be a hell of a lot harder, combined with the challenge of figuring out what it was he needed.

Bucky had specified diapers, bottles, and formula. The bottles were easy enough, six in a pack for fourteen dollars, which seemed like a lot for something _plastic_ , but he couldn’t exactly buy anything else. The diapers and formula were a whole other story. _What_ formula? What _brand_ of diapers? What _size_?

Apparently newborns came in different sizes. So what the hell size was the kid? After chewing his lip for a long few moments, he just grabbed three different pack sizes, figuring that if some were too big the kid would grow into them. As for the formula, he took a couple different kinds of that, too, just in case. What if the kid was allergic to formula? He’d been allergic to most everything going when he was a kid, Steve realised. What if out of everything the kid could inherit from him, he got his awful health?

He swallowed deeply and willed himself to calm down. No, he couldn’t think about the kid getting sick, especially not when he meant so much to Bucky. Whether he loved the kid or not, when it came to his mate, he knew when to pick his battles. So, juggling the countless items that he didn’t think to put in a cart, he made his way over to the self-serve checkouts and quickly paid, feeling like he’d forgotten something.

He dumped everything into the trunk and slid back into the front seat, aware that he had to get rid of the car as soon as he could manage, since the owner had more than likely noticed its disappearance.

He parked it in a tow zone nearby and hauled everything to the motel in one trip, hoping Bucky was waiting for him, since he was carrying two duffels and two bags full of stuff. Mercifully, as he approached, a door opened on the second floor, Bucky’s face leaning out nervously to beckon him up. Relieved, Steve sped up, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could manage.

“Where’s the crib?” was the first thing Bucky asked, to which Steve groaned, banging his head against the door.

“I knew I was forgetting something,” he sighed, irritated at himself. “I’m sorry, Buck, I’ll go out again later, I promise. Shit, that means I forgot the burners, too…”

Bucky sighed a sigh that was only a little way away from being a growl. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Did you at least get everything else?”

“Yes,” Steve replied, dropping the duffels to the floor.

“Be careful, one of those has _guns_ in them,” he hissed.

“I hope they’re not _loaded_ , then!” Steve bit back, “And where the hell did you get a gun?”

“The same place I’ve been getting most of my cash,” he snarled. “Being pregnant on the run isn’t as glamorous as you think it is. Lucky for me, Hydra’s got abandoned safe houses in almost every state.”

“Then why didn’t you stay in one of them?” Steve asked, confusion knitting together his brows. Bucky sighed indignantly.

“Because despite their names, safe houses aren’t actually very fucking safe. Especially not if they were inhabited by _Nazis._ Besides _,_ if you had had even the slightest idea I might be hiding in a safe house, it would have been the first place you looked.”

Steve couldn’t disagree with that, so he just shook his head to end the argument, kneeling down to pluck everything from the bags.

“I dumped the car in a tow zone, so we can probably stay here a few days at most.” He said gruffly, pulling out the diaper boxes. “I didn’t know what size the kid is so I got different ones, and I didn’t know what formula to get so I got different types of those, too.”

“He’s the smallest size,” Bucky said instantly. “I don’t know about formula, but I’m pretty sure he’ll be okay.”

“I didn’t want him to be allergic to the only one I bought,” Steve swallowed. “I was allergic to everything, don’t want him to get that too.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Bucky soften at the words, reaching down to soothe his shoulder with one hand. Guilt flared in his stomach, because Steve knew that Bucky thought he was concerned about his son, but in reality, he was more concerned about _Bucky_. He was worried about his mate, so, by association, he _had_ to worry about the kid.

He was a fucked-up bastard.

“He’ll be okay,” Bucky soothed. “Anyway, nowadays a hell of a lot of kids are allergic to some brands. You did good, Steve.”

Steve offered a weak, guilty smile, opening his mouth to speak before whatever he intended to say was interrupted by a shrieking crescendo from the bed. He hadn’t even noticed the pale yellow bundle stretched out on his back on the bed. His tiny face was scrunched up and pink as he beat his little fists against the bed.

“Oh, baby,” Bucky cooed, instantly at the infant’s side and scooping him into his arms. “You need a change? Huh? Guess it’s a good thing your daddy bought some more diapers, I think we’ll be needing them soon enough.” While Bucky spoke the words reverently, lovingly, devoted to this tiny life only hours after it became just that, Steve could only try to resist the urge to splutter. “Steve, get me the wipes? They’re in the duffel I brought in with me.”

“Right,” Steve agreed, blinking as he got to his feet.

He spotted the duffel on the right side of the bed, Bucky’s side, always had been, so rummaged through it before presenting his mate with it. He wrinkled his nose as the pungent smell of _poop_ hit his nose, almost gagging even though he had most definitely been subjected to far worse odours.

Bucky, however, wasn’t in the least bit fazed, still smiling at his screaming son as he pulled the soiled diaper from beneath him and cleaned him with the proffered wipes. In what seemed to Steve like a single, fluid movement, a new diaper was secured around the boy’s waist, and he was instantly pressed, chest to chest, against his father. His screams died down to quiet whimpers, Bucky bounding gently with a whispered, “Shhh…”

Steve was transfixed with the whole thing; Bucky was so natural with the boy it was almost like he was a third limb – hell, he was more natural with that baby than he was with his own metal arm, some days. The omega had always been a natural with children. From his younger sisters, to neighbours’ kids, to kids in the street that asked if he and Steve were really Captain America and the Winter Soldier. All those years he’d been relieved and almost grateful that they couldn’t have children, really he was depriving Bucky of _this_. This sense of belonging, this happiness that nestled in every corner of his once hardened heart, enough even to smooth down the still-sharp edges of their broken bond.

His selfishness cost Bucky decades of happiness.

Which was why he couldn’t ever let Bucky know how he felt. Surely, with enough time, he could learn to love the kid anyway, right? So, if Steve gave it enough time, he’d love the kid, and have nothing to hide from Bucky. It wasn’t exactly easy on his conscience, but it had to be enough.

“I’m gonna get some rest,” he blurted suddenly. “It’s been a long drive.”

Bucky nodded at him, his eyes just as tired. “Me too,” he yawned. “As soon as this little guy goes off to sleep. I’ll put him in the middle of us.”

“What?” Steve asked, blinking. “Is that safe? I mean – what if we…”

Bucky snorted, although it was far gentler than he was used to. “You won’t roll on top of him.”

“But what if–”

“You just won’t. Trust me. You’ll be alright, both of you.”

Steve swallowed, sensing that he was trying to fight a losing battle. “Okay, he agreed instead. He pulled slacks and an old shirt from his own duffel and shrugged them on, climbing beneath the covers.

For all his fretting, falling asleep proved to be an almost instantaneous affair.


	9. Chapter 9

Bucky couldn’t be more gone on his son. That tiny little boy, the one he spent months running to protect, the one he held in his arms, he loved more than he could ever have imagined.

So far, he hadn’t cried all that much, which Bucky was somewhat worried about. He’d been fed only twice since he was born the day before, changed a few more times than that, and he wasn’t sure if it was normal or not, but he couldn’t ask anyone for advice.

Steve, at least, seemed to like the boy, seemed to be concerned about him. When he worried aloud whether their son would be sick because of him, Bucky could have cried. That was the concern he had _wanted_ to see on his mate all that time, and seeing it so soon after their son’s birth was promising. He hadn’t expected Steve to take to him so quickly, but he had. Steve was going to be an incredible father, of that he was certain.

The baby started to stir, making quiet whining noises as he stretched out his little arms. When one of his pink little hands made contact with Bucky’s shirt, he was surprised when the boy, still with his eyes closed, fisted his fingers into it, and settled down, quietening once more.

This. He had always wanted _this_.

He decided that, just for one night, it would be alright for his son to sleep as is, with his own back propped against the headboard. Steve had fallen into an exhausted, peaceful sleep, thanks to how hectic things had been since only the night before. He couldn’t be more proud of the man that Steve was, of the man he’d chosen to be his mate. The alpha had adjusted to the new addition so quickly and without complaint that it was like the boy had always belonged there.

With those heart-warming thoughts, Bucky dozed off into a light, somewhat aware sleep.

By the time he awoke, the light of the day was far brighter, the shadows through the curtains much longer. It looked like it may have been close to noon.

More importantly, his boy was squirming in his arms, screaming his little heart and and Bucky faltered, expression breaking.

“Oh, baby,” he soothed gently, readjusting his grip on his son and bringing him closer. He gave his diaper a sniff and frowned when there seemed to be nothing particularly pungent about it. “You hungry, sweetheart?”

Without waiting for a reply that certainly would not come for many, many months, he gently tugged down the neckline of his shirt to offer one of his own puffy nipples. His son rooted around for only a moment before clamping down on it and sucking. Bucky felt an almost instant relief as what little milk he could offer was going to the boy who needed it most. He felt closer to the boy than he had been when he had still been inside of him, and Bucky would give up everything just to have this feeling for the rest of his life.

“What are you doing?” Steve’s voice came to his left, somewhat anxious s his eyes trailed over what their baby was doing. Bucky chuckled lightly, turning his gaze back to his chest.

“Feeding him,” he explained quietly. “Don’t produce enough to feed him on my own, ‘s why we need formula too.”

“Oh,” Steve said, haltingly. Must still have been tired, Bucky thought. “Does it… hurt?”

That question gave him pause for a moment before shaking his head. “No, it… it doesn’t hurt, it’s more a relief. Like a slowly deflating balloon rather than one that just popped.”

While it was probably the most random comparison he could have made, it seemed to make sense to his mate, who just nodded slowly, falling silent once more.

It wasn’t long before their son had finished his meal, pulling away from his chest and starting to cry again.

“Baby, come here,” Bucky soothed, pressing his son’s chest to his, the baby’s head on his shoulder and gently tapping at his back. He had, the first time, been so worried about what his super strength may do to the poor baby, but instinct had him tapping so gently that his strength remained slumbering. He got to his feet to help him rock his son slowly, patting him all the while until –

“Okay, that was a big one,” Bucky grinned at him out of the corner of his eye. He stopped crying after that, eyelids drooping back into sleep. He wanted nothing more than to continue to hold onto the little tyke, but he also desperately needed to change his shirt.

He turned back to his mate, amused at the tight expression of disgust at the sight of baby spit up, and asked,

“Take him for a minute, would you? Need to change my shirt.”

“But – but he just threw up on you!” Steve swallowed. “Is he sick? He’s not supposed to get sick as a new born, right?” Bucky rolled his eyes fondly.

“He’s not sick,” he assured him. “He just needed to be burped. Here, take him.”

But Steve didn’t move, didn’t offer up his arms, only stared at the infant with anxious wariness.

It struck Bucky then that Steve, in the entirety of their son’s short life, had only held their son for a fraction of a second. How selfish did he want to be? Taking away his mate’s chance to bond with their son?

“Steve…” he started remorsefully, gaze turned to his almost sleeping son. “I – I’m sorry, I didn’t even realise…”

To his surprise, Steve’s expression grew alarmed, eyes widening as he moved minutely backwards.

“Realise what?” he asked stiffly. Bucky just shook his head.

“I’ve been so selfish, you’ve barely had the chance to hold him. I’m sorry, you – you should get a chance to hold your own son-”

“No!” Steve assured him, a little too loudly. “I mean – no, no, it’s okay – you deserve to spend as much time with him as you want, you – you’re the one that’s risked everything to keep him safe.”

“But you’re his father too,” Bucky responded firmly. “Put your arms out, carefully, support his head, all right?”

“Um,” Steve replied timidly. Bucky fondly recalled that time Steve told him about the photoshoots during us USO tour. People would hand him babies and he’d have no clue as to what to do with them. This at least gave Bucky an idea of what an idiot he looked like. Steve, thankfully, did as instructed, so he slowly lowered their dozing son carefully into his father’s arms.

“There you go,” he said softly, pulling away and instantly missing the weight of his tiny boy, the heat of his little body against his arms.

“Now what?” Steve asked, completely lost, staring at his son with an almost unreadable mixture of awe and confusion.

Bucky chuckled. “Now you hold him close. Trust me, it’s one of the most incredible things you can feel. I think I’m gonna take a shower.” He laughed again at the terrified look Steve shot him, moving forward to smooth down the sparse spattering of light brown hair on his head. “You’ll be okay. He won’t want feeding again so soon, but he might need his diaper changing. If he starts crying, just change him. Other than that, hold him. Really, it’s such a good feeling. Holding him.”

With that, he reluctantly took his leave, letting his son out of his sight for the first time.

 

Steve had hoped beyond whatever deities he knew existed, from Thor, to beyond even that, to capital-g God, he _hoped_ that when Bucky lay that small boy in his arms he’d feel something more. Something more than the chest-clenching fear, something more than detached concern, something more than… than anything he already felt. Love, he hoped, though he knew that one, at least, was too much to ask for. Affection, perhaps.

But the only thing he felt was the intensifying disquiet of his mind as the boy, who moments before had vomited on Bucky, drifted back into sleep.

Bucky said it was a good feeling, to hold him, but Steve could only feel the oncoming sense of dread, of failure and a disgust in himself as the boy gave a quiet gurgle, still asleep.

How could he be so selfish? This tiny boy, one he should be able to comfortably call his own, only needed to be held, to be fed and clothed and cleaned. Steve had done less for people he loved more. All that boy needed was a father, a man to love him, to care for him and his other father both. That was supposed to be _Steve’s_ job, but he was a complete failure in a thousand different ways.

Bucky spent almost thirty minutes in the shower, leaving Steve alone with the boy and unmoving from his original position for fear that it would stir and scream the apartment down. He didn’t dare look at the boy, knowing that even looking at the innocent child would bestow upon him the feeling of regret that thundered through his veins many times before, but never for a reason as devastating as this. Regret for being unable to save Bucky was one thing, regret for never telling Peggy the truth of he and Bucky another. As was the regret he felt for not telling Tony the truth.

But the regret he felt for failing to love something so innocent, so worthy of being loved…

He was no better than the men he spent years fighting. They too had been callous, unable to love anyone who deserved it. He’d thought himself to be better than them, because he had loved his mate, and he loved his team and friends.

He wasn’t, all because he couldn’t love the one who deserved it most.

The bundle in his arms started wailing. It was a horrid wail that itched at his eardrums, that made him wince and jump to his feet, inadvertently jostling him and making it all worse.

“Oh no,” Steve muttered to himself, turning a frantic look to the bathroom, where he heard the shower still running. Bucky had entrusted the care of his – their – son to him, expected him to know to change him.

He hadn’t been paying attention to how Bucky did that.

He made an attempt, though, recalling that the omega had put the boy flat on his back, and opened up his tiny onesie. The first part was simple enough, but Steve Rogers would _not_ be defeated by being unable to figure out where the opening was. Turns out the buttons down the front of it were for show, and the actual buttons were right at the bottom. Undoing those, all the while trying desperately to emit the same calming ‘Shh,’ that Bucky had already mastered, proved to be very taxing. The shower shut off, but Steve wasn’t going to let that deter him. He had to make an effort, and let Bucky _see_ him making an effort. That was important – fi he was going to keep up with this almost cruel façade, he had to at least make it believable.

The diaper, mercifully, was much simpler to open, only needing to be flipped open on both sides of the boy’s tiny hips. That child, now that he looked closer, could fit easily onto his forearm, with room to spare. As soon as both of the straps were undone, Steve’s nose wrinkled as the acrid stench of waste hit his nose again. He dove for a fresh diaper from the open duffel at the base of the bed, searching also for the wipes.

He heard stumbling coming from the bathroom, sounding a little frantic since it had been a few minutes since the baby had started crying, and Steve hadn’t quite managed to calm him down yet. Failure gripped at his chest as he opened the diaper fully and just stared at the mess. What was he supposed to do after that? It was like he only had steps one to three, and then an enormous, blank jump to step six, with no clue as to what came in between.

Even _more_ horrifying, as he leaned down to give it his best shot, the kid didn’t seem to like that.

He pissed in his goddamn _face_.

The door opened behind him, in time for Bucky to ask,

“Steve, can you-”

Steve gritted his teeth, turning to face his mate with very carefully hidden irritation. To his annoyance, however, Bucky took one look at him and _laughed_. _Laughed at him_.

“Oh, baby,” Bucky shook his head, moving forward with his towel wrapped around his waist. There was still an uncomfortably prominent stomach on his once stocky frame, having only given birth less than a day ago. “Go wash up, I’ll take care of his diaper.”

Steve didn’t need to be told twice, having to try very, very hard not to slam the door behind him.

Goddamn it, he was _trying_. He had been _trying_ to look after the fucking kid and he got _pissed on_ in return? He couldn’t even be _mad_ , either, because the kid was less than a day old, and didn’t exactly have any control over its bodily functions. But he was still _mad_. It was like the universe had recognised Steve’s attempt to try, Steve’s attempt to learn to love his own son, and decided to fuck everything up instead.

 This was his fucking life.


	10. Chapter 10

 

“What do you think about the name Howard?” Bucky mumbled, half asleep in the back of their fourth getaway car. Steve gritted his teeth.

“No,” he said instantly, the most short-tempered he’d been with his mate in a long time. “I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s a bad idea.”

“Why?” his mate asked, innocent confusion in his voice, like the Winter Soldier had retreated into an unseen corner of his mind and the naïve, seventeen-year-old Bucky Barnes had taken back his place.

“You’re trying to make up for what you did. Something that wasn’t your fault, and Tony acknowledged that.” Steve tried to be patient, tried to be gentle, but everything about the last _week_ had been gnawing on him beneath his skin. The boy crying all hours of the day. Bucky trying to encourage him to hold him, trying to get him to offer the boy a bottle, or change him again. It was driving Steve _insane_.

“But Howard’s a good name,” Bucky argued. “And Howard was a good man, and one of our best friends back in the day. Why not name him after someone we liked?”

“Because Howard Stark was _not_ a fucking good man, alright?” he snarled. It was lucky that they was at a stoplight, otherwise Steve might have done something stupid, even with his reflexes. Bucky fell silent behind him. Steve sighed, anger dripping out of him like a faucet slightly twisted. “He wasn’t the good man he thought he was. I won’t let you name y- _our_ son after him.”

“Why?” Bucky said. It wasn’t even a question, more a quiet demand. “Why wasn’t he the good man we thought he was?”

The light turned green, and Steve tapped on the wheel, an outlet for his agitation.

“He was selfish. Greedy. He loved his job more than he loved Tony.”

He and Howard really were two peas in a pod.

“That’s not true,” Bucky sighed.

“Oh, it is,” Steve replied darkly. “No parent should have treated their child the way Howard treated Tony. You know, Peggy threatened to take Tony from Howard in the Eighties, it got so bad?”

“I find it hard to believe that a man can’t love his own son,” Bucky sighed, shaking his head in disgust as his hand stroked his own son’s little head. Steve swallowed, eyes flickering up to the mirror guiltily. “Howard loved him. No, it wasn’t healthy. No, it wasn’t _pleasant_. Yes, it hurt Tony. But Howard did love him. That doesn’t make it okay, but Howard loved him.”

“We can’t name him Howard,” Steve said resolutely. He had no right, not with the words that Bucky was saying, not with the way he felt for his own son. He didn’t deserve to have any sort of input on what to name a son he barely considered his own.

“Fine. You come up with something then,” Bucky retorted, anger lacing his tone. “You’re quick to shoot down all these names, but you’re not coming up with any options yourself.”

Shock thudded around Steve’s body like adrenaline, except far more incapacitating.

“I – um, I… I don’t know. I don’t have any,” Steve admitted, shame burning his cheeks pink. It was better than admitting that he was just like Howard.

“You can’t call him ‘the baby’ forever.”

“I know. I just – I don’t know what to call him, okay? We’ll figure something out.”

“Bryan.”

Steve winced inadvertently. Bucky huffed.

“How about… Kevin?”

“No. We knew a Kevin, he was an asshole.”

“How about ‘Gunner’?” Bucky snickered. Steve growled low in his throat, not even trying to stop it once it took hold.

“That one’s a little insensitive, don’t you think?” he complained, eyes dead ahead. “Considering our past.”

“Come on, I thought it would be funny. You need to lighten up, Steve.”

“Maybe I _would_ be able to lighten up if I didn’t have you breathing down my neck at the same time a baby won’t stop fucking _crying_ all hours of the night!” he hissed and-

Bucky just about stopped breathing.

Steve swallowed, opening and closing his mouth again and again, pulling over so that he couldn’t face any distractions as he turned.

“I – I didn’t mean that.”

“No, no. You did.” Bucky replied coldly, eyes fixed firmly on the baby in the car seat. “Sorry, I didn’t realise that the baby crying was getting on your nerves. I was too busy trying to _stop_ him from crying. Sorry I was breathing down your neck about that, too. Didn’t realise I had to be the only one pulling my weight with him.”

“Bucky – _please_ , I just – I just mean that…”

“Oh, go ahead, Steve. What _did_ you mean? Because it sounded to me like you’re mad your own son is too young to be able to take care of himself.”

“I’m not,” Steve assured him firmly. “I just mean that I’m so tired. Of – of _running_ , and I miss home. Being on the run like this – it’s not healthy for any of us.”

“I managed just fine without you. If you can’t handle it, go.”

“I’m not leaving you, Bucky, I swear-”

“And what do you mean _you’re_ tired?” Bucky finally snapped to face him then, a fire in his eyes that hurt Steve almost as much as the tears in them did. “ _You’re_ tired? Did you spend nine months pregnant with him? Did you spend five of those months _imprisoned_? Did you spend the remainder of that pregnancy running from them? Have you been the one getting up every time he starts to cry, just to make sure that he’s alright, and to make sure that he’s fed, and changed, and _cleaned_?” He laughed almost hysterically. “Because I don’t think you have, Steve.”

Steve’s lungs threatened to collapse on him there and then; Bucky had noticed, then, he thought. His chest constricted as if an asthma attack was creeping up on him, because really, Bucky was _right_. He’d let his conscience slumber, he’d convinced himself that he was trying, but in reality, he’d just been turning the other way whenever his own son needed something, be it food or even _comfort_.

“I don’t think you’ve been trying as much as you _think_ you are. I know you care about him,” Bucky’s voice had softened to an almost silent purr, his wet gaze turning back to the child in question. “Just… act like it. Maybe then you wouldn’t be so _tired_. Maybe then I wouldn’t be so goddamn tired.”

Steve didn’t deserve a mate as strong as Bucky, a man who could bounce back from everything, from his own dark past to even the most grievous injury like it was little more than a scrape. Because, when he brought himself to look, _really_ look at his mate for the first time since the baby had been born, he noticed the dark circles making a home beneath his eyes. Noticed that his hair, once clean and shiny, hung greasy and limp. Where his cheeks had been full of health and life, they were beginning to become sallow and pale.

Steve was tired, but Bucky was _exhausted_.

And Steve was ashamed of himself.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, more to himself than to his mate, a promise and a reminder that he needed to do better by his mate, he needed to make more of an effort with his own son. “I’ll pull over at the first motel we come to. You… You can get some sleep. Take a shower, I don’t know. I could go and get something to eat.”

“Don’t do all this now, Steve. Not because of this.”

“I didn’t even realise I was hurting you.” He admitted. “But it stops now. I’ll try harder, Bucky, I swear.”

There was a long silence where Bucky didn’t move towards him, and Steve almost turned back with a defeated sigh when Bucky jerkily brought one hand up to his face, rubbing at his cheeks roughly.

“Good,” he said, a whole world of bittersweet forced into one word, like the world had been lifted off of his shoulders.

“Buck,” Steve murmured, not wanting to let the conversation end on such a melancholic note. Bucky hummed. Steve sighed, reaching out with one arm through the gap between the seats, startling his mate when his hand settled on his forearm and tugged. There was hardly enough room in the car, but he managed to contort himself enough to present a soft, tender kiss on his mate’s forehead, hoping to convey, without the safety of their bond, that he intended to make it up to him.

While Bucky didn’t say anything when they parted, Steve caught the almost reluctantly relieved, tiny smile on his mate’s lips once the latter’s gaze returned to his son.

A new start, Steve promised himself, eyes flickering nervously over the car seat. A new start, a new chance. He was going to do better by his mate. He had to.

 

 

 

Bucky conked out quickly enough, not even changing out of his clothes before crawling beneath the covers and closing his eyes.

Steve stared at the boy in the car seat. It really was true he hadn’t been making an effort this last week, because he also noticed, as he took the time to look at his son, that he had lost weight. It was subtle, but there.

He wasn’t sure if he should leave the baby in the car seat until he woke up, or take him out and hold him. He never took any notice what Bucky did with the seat. But, whether it was a blessing or a curse, the boy decided for him, eyes blinking open, showcasing a dazzling blue that should render him speechless. The boy started to whine, so, with a look towards Bucky asleep on the bed, Steve plucked the boy from the carrier as quickly but as carefully as he could manage.

To his surprise, the boy almost instantly ceased to whine, so he sniffed suspiciously at his diaper and found nothing. His son just took to the closeness like a fire to a forest, stuffing his little nose in to Steve’s shirt.

He was kind of cute, Steve had to admit, letting a smile grace his face. He was such a tiny little thing, after all, and it wasn’t his fault that Steve didn’t want him.

“You’re stuck with me, buddy,” Steve said lowly. “Your dad’s sleeping, so it’s just me tonight.”

He didn’t seem to have any complaints, however, if his closed eyes and the thumb in his mouth were anything to go by.

 

No, things only went downhill when the baby woke up again, still in Steve’s arms, and looked up for one long minute before–

The tiny thing sneezed. With lungs as powerful as his were, Steve _knew_ , such a tiny, wet sound was most definitely out of character. He had sneezed. And then – eh sneezed _again_ , leaving Steve staring horrified before thinking to adjust his grip, pressing the boy against his shoulder and tapping his back as gently as he could manage with the frantic fear pulsing through his blood.

Why was he sneezing? He wondered as he tried to bounce him as Bucky could do with ease, but he thought he was doing more harm than good, because the baby was beginning to whimper. He readjusted his grip as best as he could manage with his trembling hands as an old fear started to come out of hibernation.

He pushed it down firmly, reaching for wet wipes to get rid of the mucus all over his face from the sneezes. It just had to be normal.

Until he heard the wheezing.

Panic seized at his chest, making him tighten his grip until the baby started to squirm and whine, but all that was going through Steve’s head was the fact that it was almost winter, and he had been so, _so_ sickly around that time every single year back before the serum. Twice he’d gotten pneumonia, countless more times he got the flu so bad it bowled him right over.

A baby as small as this one, a boy that Bucky loved with all of his damned heart, he _couldn’t_ get sick, he’d –

Steve was panicking. He couldn’t stop it. What kind of father was he? In the middle of a panic attack, holding his son? But there were tears streaming down his own face at the very idea that the kid was sick, guilt crippling him enough that he curled up over the small boy, pressing his head into his knees and tugging him close in an effort to keep him even remotely safe and warm, hoping it would be _enough_.

“Steve?”  Bucky mumbled from his side of the bed, as if all of his movements had jostled him awake. “Wha’s wrong?”

“He – Buck-” he shuddered. He’d managed to look after the kid for an _hour_ before having a mental breakdown, what kind of man was he?

“Steve?” Bucky sat up sharply, turning to see him draped tightly over the boy. “Is he okay, what-”

“He’s breathing weird,” Steve gasped, pulling his head from his knees and thrusting his whole upper body towards Bucky. “He started sneezing and breathing weird – he can’t get sick, Buck, he just _can’t-”_

Bucky’s expression hardened as he plucked his son from Steve’s arms, lowering his ear to his chest and frowning before looking at the baby’s nose.

“Steve…” Bucky sighed, far less on guard than he’d been only a moment before. Not quite angry, but definitely exasperated. “He’s okay. Babies sneeze; they have to clean their noses out somehow, all right?”

Steve tried to gulp in a deep breath, shuddering as his eyes fell on the boy. He was still wheezing so slightly, but Bucky didn’t seem to be concerned.

“His – his breathing,” he gurgled. “What if – what if he’s got asthma, like – like I did-”

“Steve,” Bucky stopped him firmly. “Look at him.”

Reluctantly, Steve did, swallowing at the sight of the boy’s eyes slipping closed once again.

“He’s not sick. The air’s too dry, that makes him sneeze, or breathe funny sometimes, okay? It’s happened before.”

“He’s too small to get sick,” Steve murmured. Just thinking about how devastated Bucky would be if he _was_ sick, especially so young… “What if – what if he does, and it’s because of me –”

“Steve – _Steve_ ,” Bucky interrupted sharply, “Listen to me, okay? Just – just listen. They said you were born too early and wouldn’t last the night, so your ma held you close so she didn’t lose a single second with you. They told your ma you wouldn’t make it to three, but on your third birthday she bought you a brand new teddy just because you’d proved them wrong.

“I remember ever single fever, every asthma attack, and every priest called to give you last rites, but you’d muster through the night and wake in the mornin’ with that stupid grin on your face like we were all fools for worrying. All those bullies that beat you up and pushed you down, you got right back up. All before the serum, that _supposedly_ made you the man you are now. So _what_ if our kid gets sick, then?” he swallowed harshly, eyes a little red as they turned up to his mate. “You never let that stop you, and he’s _your_ son. It won’t stop him either.”

The tightness in Steve’s chest eased slightly, letting him take a ragged breath as he dropped his head into his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You – you were getting some rest, you should –”

“Steve,” Bucky sighed. “I know. I get it, it’s okay. Sometimes I forget you’re new to this. You just want what’s best for him. I get it.”

“I think,” Steve blew out a slow puff of air. “I think we need – we need _help_ , Buck, you and me, we – we aren’t _enough_.”

Bucky stiffened, the soft smile on his face freezing into a sinister, almost threatening grimace.

“What?” he asked, quiet and deadly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I…” Steve swallowed harshly. “You’re exhausted. I don’t know how to do this. We – we need some _help_ , from – from Sam, or-”

“Are you suggesting,” Bucky interrupted slowly. “That we call one of the people I specifically told you _not_ to call?”

“Buck-”

“And _are you suggesting_ ,” he continued, more defiant and cold with each passing word. “That we call one of our _friends_ to take our son away? So that we can go safely back home without our son?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth-” Steve replied frantically, light prickles of fear and nausea collecting in his stomach. “That’s not what I mean – I just – you need time to yourself, to – to get some rest, to clean up-”

“Because if you _are_ trying to suggest that someone takes our son away from us, I’d have to remind you, Steve, that that is exactly what we are running from.” He hissed at last, a protective, dangerous fire in his eyes.

“Bucky, Bucky _please_ , listen,” Steve tried desperately. “We just – we need someone who knows what they’re doing, because – because I don’t. You’re doing so much for him and an hour alone with him and I break down because I think he’s sick. You can’t support him _and_ me, so we need someone who – who can _help_.”

“If you even think,” Bucky iterated slowly, every word dripping with threat. “About calling _anyone,_ I will take him, and go.”

Steve’s heart stopped. “What?”

“You heard me. I will take him, and _leave_. No one will get their goddamn fingers on our son, I don’t care if they’re our _friends_. The more people who know, the more dangerous it gets. So you tell a single soul, and I won’t be here when you come back.”

“You can’t,” Steve laughed suddenly, shaking his head because that just seemed utterly _hilarious_ to him. _End of the line_ , Bucky promised him, had kept promising him ever since, and Bucky was saying _that_ would be it? “Don’t be ridiculous, you wouldn’t – you wouldn’t _leave_ me for that.”

“I’d leave you in a heartbeat if it meant keeping him safe,” Bucky deadpanned, and Steve almost laughed again before he looked at Bucky’s _face_. A face that was hard as stone, just as blank, carefully schooled and tense. Steve swallowed roughly, his laugh turning nervous.

“Buck...?”

“I would,” he swore. “If the only way I could keep him safe would be to leave you, you’d never see me again.”

Steve tried to find the words to respond to that, but his mind just short-circuited, leaving him staring at the small boy in Bucky’s arms with his mouth hung open.

Quicker than he could even blink, any affection he was starting to foster for the small boy seemed to deflate, leaving a regretful resentment of a _child_.

He was jealous of a fucking _baby._

Who knew Captain America could go so low?

 

If Bucky had had even the slightest idea of what was going on Steve’s mind whenever he saw the baby, he’d have been long gone. He’d never been a good liar, least of all to his mate. Steve couldn’t hide that from him forever. Couldn’t learn to love the boy like he wanted to.

So, despite the warning from Bucky that chilled him to his very core, Steve said he was going to the store for some more diapers, and pulled into the first alley he came across, dialling a number he had memorised.

“Laura,” he said as soon as the line picked up. There was no response. “It’s Steve. Is Clint there?”

_“…Yeah. I’ll get him.”_


	11. Chapter 11

The purple bear had been an apology for what was to come. He saw it on the shelf in the store and barely even considered it before putting it into the cart. That wasn’t how gifts were supposed to work, especially for children, but he didn’t care. He’d promised Bucky he was going to make an attempt, and that was it, even if the intentions were less loving than the omega had intended.

Bucky had eaten it up like it was made of gold, softening at the sight of it and seemingly accepting that Steve hadn’t meant any harm by suggesting someone take his son away.

Part of him wondered if Bucky had been bluffing. He’d find out soon enough.

He slept with his back to them both for the first time since the baby was born. Bucky always slept somewhat curled around the boy anyway, be it for his own comfort or for protection, he did it whenever he could get away with it, which was always.

Steve woke early the next morning, a strong cold feeling of dread settling in his stomach as he realised what was going to happen that day.

Perhaps, he thought, as he stared at the sleeping boy surrounded by his omega father, he had made a mistake in calling Clint. There his mate was, comforted by what he had wanted for decades, and Steve, just like Ross, threatened to tug it from his grasp. Steve had to be some kind of monster for doing all of this to his own mate, to his own son.

With a sigh, he escaped to the bathroom, trying to prepare himself for the dreaded fate he’d brought upon himself.

The knock came only ten minutes later, followed almost instantly by the quiet whimper of the baby and the tell-tale click of a gun.

Steve slid out of the bathroom in an instant, reaching for the shield at the wall and bringing it up an a stark contrast to Bucky’s determined expression as the gun was raised in his right arm, left arm cradling the green bundle away from the door.

“Buck-”

“No one should know we’re here,” Bucky said menacingly, not moving even the slightest muscle. “No one. So who. Is at. The door.”

“Bucky…” Steve said again, swallowing harshly. His tone made Bucky’s determined expression melt slowly into shock, though the gun didn’t lower. He angled his face slightly toward Steve.

“You didn’t...” he said threateningly. “Steve. What I said last night, I meant _every word_ -”

“I had to,” Steve implored, stepping toward the door, knocking over the gift for the baby he bought the night before.

“The fucking _teddy_ ,” he spat, getting to his feet and still not lowering the gun. “You didn’t buy that as a fucking _gift_ , did you?” He didn’t even wait for Steve’s response. “You’re a hundred kinds of fucked up, Steve. How could you do this?”

 _“Um, if you could have this argument when I’m not standing outside like a sore thumb, that’d be great?_ ”

Bucky gaped. “ _Clint_? Out of everyone you called, you called _Clint_?”

Steve sighed, setting his shield down and pulling the door open.

“Should I be offended?” Clint asked, not sounding offended in the least as he pulled Steve in for a hug. “We haven’t heard anything from you in two weeks, man, we were starting to get worried.”

“You guys would have found us eventually,” Steve sighed, shooting a pointed gaze to Bucky. Clint smiled over at the omega before turning back to Steve with a breezy smile. Then he froze. His eyebrows knitted together as he slowly turned his gaze back to Bucky, eyes instead falling on the green bundle in his arms rather than the gun still pointed at his chest.

“Uh.” He blinked. “Should I mention the elephant in the room?”

“My son,” Bucky growled. “Who you’re not taking away from me.”

Clint’s eyes widened as he raised his arms in mock surrender. “You didn’t call me here to kidnap a kid did you?” he demanded from Steve, looking incredulously at the small boy. “That kid’s, what, a month old?”

“Two weeks,” Bucky corrected hoarsely.

“No,” Steve interrupted vehemently. “I didn’t call you here to kidnap the kid. We need _help_ with him.”

“No we don’t,” Bucky snarled.

“Yes we do,” Steve bit back. “You’re exhausted and I don’t know what I’m doing. Clint’s got three kids, he knows better than anyone.”

“I had three baby sisters.”

“All of whom you barely remember!” Steve spat back, slamming the door and then wincing when the baby started to cry. Bucky growled lowly as he clicked the safety back on, putting the gun down before tending to his son.

“…So… Barnes ran because..?” Clint hedged, and Bucky glared at his mate.

“No,” Steve said firmly. “He was kidnapped. Which is why we haven’t gone back to the tower.”

“Ah,” Clint nodded sagely. “Easy target back there.”

“No one is getting their hands on my son,” Bucky growled, face contrastingly soft as he stared down at the boy in question.

“We can’t run forever,” Steve pointed out, rubbing at his eyes. He was so tired, all of a sudden. Like the act of admitting to himself that he just couldn’t love his own son had exhausted every reserve of energy in his body.

“That’s true,” Clint agreed softly. “Eventually you’ve got to throw in the towel.”

“Throwing in the towel means I lose my son,” Bucky snarled, turning to face the two with a sneer. “So I’ll run forever if that means he’s safe.”

“Maybe we should leave this conversation alone for a little while,” Clint suggested, seeming to notice Bucky’s increasing temper. The omega looked wary, but nodded, also appearing eager to let go of that part of the conversation for now. “So, what’s the little guy’s name?”

Bucky stiffened, remaining silent.

“He doesn’t have one,” Steve sighed instead.

“Ah,” Clint nodded. “Yeah, that’s cool. Took Laura and me almost two months to agree on a good name for Lila before she was born. Mind if I take a look at him?”

Bucky glanced up then, warily trailing his eyes from head to toe before sighing. Clint had always struck him as one of the least threatening Avengers, even despite his enormous kill count. He nodded, and Clint moved slowly forward to crane his neck down at the baby.

“Oh, he’s cute,” Clint grinned. “That’s adorable. Two weeks old, you said?”

“Almost,” Bucky said, voice almost proud, but still reserved enough that he didn’t completely trust him.

“So, eight months missing, two week old baby… pregnant?” he hedged. Bucky nodded again. “Kidnapped? Because the government’s pretty convinced you ran away.”

“They would be. They were the ones that kidnapped me.”

“Well fuck.” Clint said, accepting that almost immediately. Steve had always liked Clint’s easy-going nature, accepting whatever life threw at him like it was little more than a kid throwing confetti. “Hence why you’re still on the run I suppose?”

“Nailed it.”

“So, how do you _not_ stay on the run?” he asked, and Steve wanted to kiss Clint for asking the very question that Bucky would have razed him for. The omega didn’t answer, gaze turned down to his son. “O-kay… so you were going to _stay_ on the run.”

“If it means he’s safe,” Bucky repeated.

“So when he turns four or five years old, asking you why he doesn’t have a home like all the other kids?” Bucky swallowed. “When he asks you why you have a different car every week? Why you stay in a different place every few days? You can get away with it now, but not forever.”

“He’d be _safe_. That would be enough.”

“He wouldn’t be happy.”

Bucky stiffened then, snapping to stare at the beta with incredulousness,  muted horror dancing over his expression at something he hadn’t even begun to consider.

Steve’s green-eyed monster roared beneath the surface; jealous of a baby, now jealous of Clint for _talking_ to Bucky? No, that wasn’t what he was jealous about. He was _jealous_ , because the beta, within minutes of arriving, managed to completely tear down the walls Bucky had built around himself and his son, destroyed the protective barriers that drove Bucky to completely deny the possibility of ever going home again. All while using Bucky’s one weakness in a way that didn’t paint Clint to be a cold heartless monster who wouldn’t love an innocent child.

“We’ve got no other choice,” Bucky murmured at last, blinking at Clint like he didn’t even believe the words himself. “If we go back, they’ll take him, they’ll take him from us. I’ve wanted him for too long to let that happen.”

“Stark’s people have a lot of power behind them,” Clint reminded him gently. “They’re good at their jobs, too. In fact, I bet if we asked real nicely, they might spin some sort of story that paints Ross as a cruel dictator that’s perfectly willing to kidnap children to get the upper hand. That would be pretty hard to recover from, I’d say.”

“But he wouldn’t be safe. Everyone would know about him.”

“Either everyone finds out, or you stay running forever. I can see how tired you are. Both of you,” Clint turned back to Steve then and gave a small shrug. “You’re tired. Two-week old kid, and you’re on the road every day. It’s no wonder you’re at each other’s throats.”

No, Steve was at his mate’s throat because he couldn’t love his own son, and couldn’t exactly take that out on an infant who only wants food and cuddles. But he’d go with that.

“So what are we supposed to do now?” Steve asked irritably, aware that he probably shouldn’t be in such a foul mood since this was more-or-less exactly the reason he invited Clint here. He just hadn’t expected the job to be done so quickly.

“That’s up to you two.” Clint shrugged. “I’m gonna go out for a little while. Maybe come back in an hour or two. You guys need to figure this out together, and I can’t have anything to do with that.”

With that, only minutes after his arrival that could have signalled the end of his and Bucky’s relationship, Clint left with a smile through the motel room door, as if he hadn’t had as large of an impact on them as the meteor had with the dinosaurs.

There was an uncomfortably long silence between the two, where neither knew what to say, how to act, nor even if they should look at one another.

“I wasn’t bluffing last night,” Bucky said at last with a sigh. Steve’s chest clenched, turning numb and cold as the meaning of the words struck him. “But I – I’m not going to leave you.”

“Thank you,” Steve burst out like it was almost a prayer, unable to find even a single other word to express his gratitude that the universe was granting him a chance.

“I should have come home sooner,” he continued, dropping to the bed and wincing as he went. “I still don’t know what to do.”

“Come _home_ ,” Steve reiterated slowly, moving forward to fall to his knees at Bucky’s feet, looking straight up at his mate. “I miss home. I know you do too. It’s the best place for bo-all of us.”

“After all this running... I don’t know if I can just… Go back. Like nothing happened. Like everything I was running from never happened.”

“It did happen,” Steve assured him, massaging one of Bucky’s thighs with one hand. “I won’t ever, _ever_ let anyone forgot what they did to you. What they _would_ have done to you, if you weren’t…”

“They’ll still want to take him away from us.”

“We won’t let them,” Steve shrugged, and judging from the way Bucky’s brows crinkled and how his head turned to the side, he sounded far too flippant. “We’ll go through anyone who tries,” he continued in the hopes of salvaging whatever it was Bucky wanted to hear from him.

“You said yourself. He’s got a target on his back. Anyone who knows about him could use him against us.”

“He’ll be living in a tower full of Avengers. Every one of them individually can take on whoever decides they want him. It’s the safest place for us to be. Please, Buck. We can go home. We – we can go back to how things were, if you’d just accept that-”

“Back to how things were?” Bucky interrupted, voice _odd_. Steve tilted his head, taken aback. “Why would we go back to how things _were_?”

“Why _wouldn’t_ we?” Steve laughed nervously, sensing that he’d put a foot wrong and quicksand was starting to yank him beneath the ground.

“Because everything’s different now.” Bucky continued, perplexed yet challenging. “ _Before,_ we were a dysfunctional couple that could barely manage without each other.  _Before,_ our team was in tatters, _before,_ we couldn’t – couldn’t have a family. _Now_ is so much better than before. Have you or have you not been on better terms with everyone since I went missing?”

“Well,” Steve floundered. “Yeah – but just because-”

“Have you or have you not learned that I’m not the only person you need in your life?”

“I knew that _before_ –” Steve frowned, challenging that notion with a vengeance. He and Sam were good friends, after all. They just hadn’t spoken in two months.

“Have you or have you not now got a son you said you wanted?”

“No, I-”

“No?” Bucky interrupted him again, and they both fell into a shocked silence.

“That’s not what I meant, I meant…”

Bucky pulled his leg away from Steve’s grasp, expression turning more deeply confused with every passing moment.

“You do that a lot…” Bucky murmured, shaking his head. “You – you talk as if he’s not here. Like if you ignore him, he’ll just go away.”

“That’s not true-”

“When he cries you just… just look at him. Like you don’t know what you’re supposed to do with that. Like the idea of feeding him or changing him doesn’t even cross your mind.”

“Bucky, that’s-” he tried to interrupt, getting more and more flustered the more Bucky began to talk, because Bucky had _noticed._

“You don’t call him your son. You call him the baby. The kid. The boy. Our son, sometimes, but only because you stop yourself from saying ‘ _your_ ’ son. To me. Why don’t you call him your son?”

“I don’t know,” Steve laughed, hoping to assuage Bucky from whatever hell-path he was travelling down, getting to his feet. “I don’t like saying the word, it – I’m not used to it-”

“You’ve never been a good liar,” Bucky’s voice, throughout the whole ordeal, hadn’t raised in the slightest, never rising above the whisper that became more and more betrayed with every sentence he spoke. “Never. So either you’ve gotten better at lying, or I’ve gotten rusty.” His eyes, when Steve brought himself to look, were wet and threatening to overflow with tears, even as he faced his son. “How long have you been lying to me, Steve?”

“I haven’t-”

“You’re lying to me _now_.” He shook his head, his expression nothing short of betrayed. “Look me in the eyes. Tell me exactly how you feel about _your_ son.” With that, he looked up with a challenge, a dare in his eyes.

One that Steve couldn’t meet.

“I love him,” he bluffed with a nervous smile that didn’t sell him in the slightest; he was far too jittery, too shaky. “Of course I do, he’s…”

“Don’t lie to me.” Bucky insisted, a single tear the first to fall over his lid. “Tell me the truth. How do you feel about your _son_?”

Shame burned his cheeks pink and his own eyes leaked with tears because for God’s sake he felt _nothing_ but guilt and – and _jealousy_ , and anger. He dropped his eyes.

“You cold-hearted bastard,” Bucky accused quietly, the pure anguish in his tone sending Steve a few steps backwards. “What kind of sick – _heartless alpha_ doesn’t love his own fucking son?”

 

he spat, tears flooding his cheeks as he shuffled further away from his mate. “How can you feel nothing for a boy that’s _yours_? Can’t you see, when you look at him, that – that he’s got _your_ eyes, and my nose, and my dark hair, and he’s _our_ son, but you don’t love him?”

“I do see that-”

“Clearly you don’t. Because if you did, you’d be like me, and you wouldn’t want to let him out of your sight, for fear someone would take him when you’re not looking, but you – _you._ You’re a selfish bastard, is why,” Bucky said suddenly, shaking his head and laughing hysterically, as he considered everything that had happened the past two weeks on the road. “Whenever he cries, you do nothing? Because, what, you don’t _care_ enough about him to want him to stop?”

“No,” Steve pleaded. “I didn’t know _how-”_

“I’ve done everything for him countless times,” Bucky challenged. “You were almost always in the same room, and you never paid attention? And when – when you said you wanted us to be _safe_. Did you mean you and me, or all three of us?”

“All three of us,” Steve swore, and that was the truth, even if it wasn’t the way Bucky wanted it. “He matters to you, so I had to keep him safe-”

“So you only care about him because _I_ do?” he demanded, rough and sharp at the same time. “What would you have done if I’d died? If – if what you were _so afraid of happening_ during his birth happened? Would you have – what, would you have left him on the nearest church’s doorsteps?”

“No, Bucky, _please,_ you’re getting this all wrong-”

“Then explain!” Bucky almost yelled at him, only quietening down when the baby they were arguing so harshly about started crying. “Tell me _exactly_ how you see this, because I see it as you being selfish, and – and _greedy_ , and heartless.”

“I can’t feel anything for him.” Steve almost sobbed, tears streaming down his face. “I’ve _tried,_ Bucky, I swear I’ve tried. I thought he was _sick_ when in reality, he was just _breathing_ , I don’t know what I’m _doing_!”

“That’s no excuse-”

“I’ve _always_ been scared our kids would get sick.” Steve insisted. “Always. It was at the forefront of my mind in the Thirties, and it’s been in the back of my mind ever since. If he _did_ get sick, it would be my _fault_. Do you know how much guilt that puts on a person?”

“You’re saying you don’t love him because you feel too _guilty_ to?” Bucky laughed derisively. “That’s fucking new-”

“Everyone I loved has _died_ , Bucky,” Steve finally cried, staring at the little green bundle in Bucky’s arms as he stuffed his thumb in his mouth. “Died or left.”

“I thought you loved me. I’m right here.”

He barrelled on even despite the shattering meaning behind ‘ _thought’_. That may have been fair, after all. If he didn’t love his own son, who’s to say he loved any of them?

“My dad died before I was even born. My ma died, then you died. The Howlies died, Peggy died, Tony and the rest of the team left, _you_ left me _twice_. How am I supposed to love a kid when everyone else I’ve had the experience of loving has _left_?”

“What kind of bullshit is this? You can’t love your own son because you had an argument with your friends? How are you making this shit up?”

“What I’m trying to say, is how can I love him when I don’t know how long he’ll be here? And with you threatening to _leave me again_ last night, I think I’m pretty justified in saying that I’m not the only one being selfish-”

“You’re calling me selfish? I’m selfish for wanting my son’s father to _love_ him? How am I supposed to tell him, in five, six, seven years, that his father isn’t here, because he doesn’t love him?”

“Bucky,” Steve sobbed, shaking his head, close to falling to his knees once more to beg for – for forgiveness, for another chance, _for anything_. “Please. I’m sorry, just – I can learn to – to love him, when we’re safe, just give me a chance to—”

“You shouldn’t have to _learn_ to love your own son,” Bucky replied, as cold as ice. “Just get out. If I’m not here when you get back, don’t be surprised. Don’t come looking for me. He may not grow up _happy_ living the rest of his life on the run, but he sure as hell would be happier than if he had you as a father.”

“Bucky, don’t do this,” Steve begged, not daring to come closer judging by the look of pure disgust that graced Bucky’s cheeks. “You don’t have to do this, we can work something out—”

“I don’t want to work _anything_ out if it comes at the expense of my son, so get _out_!”

He’d blown his chance.

Steve left, tears still staining his face, unable to ease the knot in his chest and the cold pit in his stomach.

 

 

Bucky, on the other hand, crumbled as soon as the door slammed shut, pulling his son, still nameless, to his chest and curling around him in the centre of the bed, taking what little comfort he could get from his baby.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he murmured, “I didn’t mean to yell like that, alright? It’s – your daddy.” He stopped, taking a deep breath in. “ _Steve_ doesn’t love you. I won’t make him. So we have to leave.”

The boy, young as he was, probably wouldn’t notice the absence of a touch he rarely felt, the loss of a voice that rarely spoke to him. How hadn’t he ever noticed Steve around their son before? Once he took off the rose tinted glasses he’d been seeing the world through since he was born, it was clear as day hoe Steve felt for him.

“End of the line,” Bucky whispered, heart breaking even as he said it, what was once shards of a broken bond turning into dust. “We were never supposed to get there. You – you were supposed to be the new start. New line. Not the end.

“But I love you,” he promised. “I told him I’d leave him in a heartbeat for you. And I meant that. I mean that.”

Even if half of his heart would always belong to an alpha who had lied to him.

 

Bucky was right about him. A cold, heartless bastard. He’d known it since the day the baby was born, since the first time his little lungs sang out his song of life, and instead of joining in, he’d only let it echo.

Steve knew that when he went back to the motel room, Bucky and any sign he’d ever been there would be gone, along with a son Steve wanted so much to love. So despite the tears of self-disgust, of failure and regret trailing his cheeks, he knew that he would put off going back for as long as he could manage.

If he didn’t go back, it wasn’t real yet.

Captain America. A coward.

He found some place to sit in a quiet, almost untouched corner of a park, the view of a children’s play area in the distance. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in some alley with a few glasses of Thor’s ale and just… get _drunk_. Forget about what kind of a fuck up father he was, forget about his mate leaving him, and forget about it all. He just wanted to sit, alone, and feel _sorry_ for himself. Screw the therapists who told him he should talk about his feelings. This is where that got him.

There was a mother with a young boy, from this distance Steve could only guess that he was around four, maybe five, playing in the sand. Even though they were far away, he could still see the warm smile on his mother’s face, so alike the way Bucky looked at the baby. The boy had red hair that was striking enough even from this distance, but even more striking was the smile on his face as his mother gave him a small triangular object, what it was, Steve couldn’t see, but it brightened up the boy’s day.

He had wanted that, once. A lifetime ago where having that could easily have made everything he feared a reality, one where his own child would be as sick as he had been

“They’re cute when they get to that age,” came a voice not far behind him, shocking him out of his stupor and making him reach instinctively for the shield he’d left at the motel.

“Clint,” he relaxed after a second, sighing. “You should know better than to sneak up on people like us.”

“Sorry,” Clint snickered quietly. “I assumed you’d known I was there, being a person like us, and all. But they’re cute. Kids, I mean.” Steve swallowed, turning his gaze back to the boy and his mother in the distance.

“Bucky’s leaving,” Steve said hoarsely at last. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Clint’s brows furrow, head tilting slightly in confusion.

“I thought he was going to go back home.”

“He was,” Steve nodded. “But then… we had an argument.” He coughed awkwardly. “He’s leaving. If he’s not already gone, that is.”

“Wait, without you? After all that time you spent looking for him? Must have been one hell of an argument.” Clint’s way of pushing for more information without cutting as deep as Natasha or Sam had no qualms about doing warmed Steve’s cold dead heart.

“I don’t love him,” he said, dropping his gaze to grass that was far too green for the time of year.

“Uh, _Barnes?_ Because I was under the impression-”

“The _kid_!” Steve cried. “I – don’t love the kid, I just – I _can’t_. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but – but Bucky didn’t. He’s – he’s leaving because I can’t even love my own son.”

“Ah,” Clint said instead of – of whatever Steve had expected. More yelling? Disgust? Clint himself was a father, after all. One that loved his own children. “Can’t, or won’t?” he asked, pulling Steve up short and making him stare at the beta with utter confusion.

“What I just said, and that’s what you’re asking?” he demanded. Clint shrugged.

“It’s the only question I need the answer to. There’s a big difference between those two. So, which is it, can’t, or won’t?”

“Can’t,” he spat. “I’ve tried. I – the minute he was born I was just – it felt _wrong_. Bucky was in pain, the kid was creaming, it was bloody, and disgusting, and,” he shuddered. “It was horrifying.”

“How long were you together before he gave birth?”

Steve hesitated. “Half a day, maybe? I – I didn’t have a lot of time to come to terms with it.”

“So, what, you walked in, bam, ‘Hey Steve, I’m pregnant, also in labour’?”

Steve half growled, irritated. “Kind of like that, yeah,” he muttered darkly. Clint nodded sagely, and something in his expression made Steve almost _relax_. He was being _calm_ about the whole thing where most people would narrow their eyes and give scathing comments. Steve was half-convinced that even Sam would be apprehensive approaching the subject.

“So why else couldn’t you bond with the kid?”

Steve stared at the beta for a moment longer, mulling over his strange choice of words. _Bonding,_ like he and Bucky had, but on a more familial level. Somehow, it made Steve’s sin less damning.

He sighed, swallowing. “I just… in the Thirties, we tried to – to have kids for years. When he never got pregnant, part of me was relieved because – Jesus, I was sick every other month, chronically ill. Who knew if I’d pass that on to the kid? Then – just yesterday, I… I was watching him for Bucky, really, really trying, and he started sneezing, and breathing weirdly, and I just – I didn’t know what to do.”

“You panicked?” Clint asked, a curious lilt to his voice. Steve nodded.

“The kid’s so small. If he’d gotten sick it would’a been my fault.”

“So you do care about whether he gets sick or not.”

“Yes but – but not the way I _should_ care,” he grunted, feet tapping the ground impatiently.

“No, no, you _care_. You knew you got sick, you know it might pass on, so you care. There’s no two ways of looking at that, Steve. You feel guilty that the kid might get sick because of you.”

“I shouldn’t feel guilty for that, I should feel…” he shrugged, frustration peeking through his impatience. What _should_ he feel instead of that?

“What should you feel?” Clint said, speaking the very question he was trying to answer. “Look, kids all over the world get genetic illnesses. Cystic fibrosis, congenital heart disease, diabetes, the list goes on for miles and miles. Wanna know what every single parent of those kids feels? Guilt.”

“But I didn’t feel it _right_!”

“There’s a wrong way to feel guilty?” Clint challenged calmly.

“Yes!” he argued. “I feel guilty because the kid might get sick, not because my _son_ might get sick.”

“There’s no difference. The kid’s your son, you’re worried the kid’ll get sick, so you’re worried your son will get sick.”

“I should be worried about my kid’s _health_ , not – not stewing in my own issues from a century ago,” Steve fumed, and never had he argued so intensely for the right to feel guilty.

“You _are_ worried about the kid’s health. You feel guilty.”

“That’s not the same thing-!”

“Why isn’t it? You’re guilty about it because you know how shitty your life was when you were sick. Would you wish that on any kid?”

“No!”

“Would you wish that on _your_ kid?”

“No, but-”

“What ‘but’ could you have? You don’t want your kid to get sick. Whether that’s in the form of _guilt_ , which you see in thousands of parents with sick kids, or in the form of fear – which you do feel – you _care_.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Steve growled at last. “Bucky’s probably already gone. What does it matter if I care about the kid or not? I don’t _love_ him. That’s what Bucky wants. And I don’t love him. If he starts crying, I leave it to Bucky, if he needs changing, I leave it to him, feeding, cleaning, holding, _talking_ , I leave it all to him because I can’t do it.”

“Maybe you don’t love him,” Clint acquiesced, arms half raised. “I don’t know. But it seems to me that you’re scared to love him.”

“Scared?” Steve gave a harsh, jerky laugh. “How can I be _scared_ to love a – a _kid_?”

“You knew about the kid for a day before he was born, so you didn’t exactly have time to consider just how much that changes a person.” Clint checked off a finger on his hand. “You’re scared the kids gonna get sick like you did, maybe deathly sick. Combined with your whole abandonment issues-”

“ _Abandonment issues?”_ Steve screeched, voice high. “What are you, a fucking _therapist_? I don’t have abandonment issues-”

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Bucky went missing, and both times you dropped everything you were doing to chase him around the world and back. Literally the one thing you’re terrified of is being left alone.”

“That doesn’t mean-”

“That you have textbook abandonment issues? Sure. So, you’ve got abandonment issues. Couple that with Bucky telling you he’d leave you if it meant keeping the boy safe-”

“How do you know about that?” Steve demanded. Clint just smiled.

“All parents are the same. Especially mothers. Laura’s told me countless times that the second our safety’s threatened, she’s gone. _So,_ you’ve got, one, no time to come to terms with becoming a father, especially after he said you never could be; two, your abandonment issues;  three, your intense fear of passing on your fucked-up genetics, which, by the way, have been permanently altered and improved by the serum, so no dice there. Four, you and Barnes’ skewered sense of security and safety. The public eye’s not safe. Running’s not safe. What _is_ safe?”

“I don’t understand how this is going to help me,” Stevegrowled. “Bucky’s probably already gone-”

“How this is going to help you, is that I don’t think you ‘can’t’ love him. I think you already do. You’re just too scared to try to show it.”

“That’s not what’s happening,” Steve insisted. “If you felt what I feel for that kid, I – I’m _jealous_ of a baby, I’m _mad_ at a fucking _baby_ -”

“Because Barnes loves him more than he loves you? Which, would you look at that, comes right back round to abandonment issues. Guy said he’d never leave you, dies, goes missing a couple times, then says he’s going to leave you. I don’t think anyone would respond well to that.”

“You’re trying to justify me being angry with a _kid_ , all he wants is – is to be _loved_ , to be held, and fed, and cleaned, and clothed, and _loved_!”

“If you two,” Clint spoke slowly, voice dropping suddenly to a soothing lilt. “Got somewhere _safe_. Private. Maybe back at the tower, hell, if you guys even stayed with Laura and me, and just _stayed there_. I promise you that within _weeks_ you’d be practically strangling Bucky to get to hold that kid.”

“You don’t know that,” Steve sighed dejectedly. “And I don’t even have the chance to. Bucky’s already gone.”

“Cooper was three months old.”

Steve froze.

“Yeah. Three months old before I loved the guy as much as I do now. You think you’re fucked-up, Steve. You think you’re a heartless monster for not loving your own son. It’s a lot more common than you think.” He laughed, almost self-deprecatingly, but far too light for that. “My brother and I had an abusive dad, then ran away to join the circus. You can imagine what kind of an impact that father figure had on me. Hell, what if I turned _into_ him? So for three months, I didn’t let myself near him, didn’t let myself look at him, or touch him, didn’t want to spend any more time with him than necessary. Didn’t want to just… snap. Yell at a kid for wanting some food. Not good.”

“What changed?” he whispered, begging for any sort of answer to his plight, needed to know, needed _advice._ But Clint just shrugged.

“Couldn’t tell you. Don’t know. It just. Clicked. Laura was asleep upstairs, the baby was in his little crib with me and he started crying and I just. Stopped him. Then, after he was finished, I held him until Laura found me, just staring at him so intensely that she wondered if I’d gone blind. I don’t know what changed, I really don’t. But something did. Probably saved my marriage.”

“That doesn’t mean…”

“It’s more common than you think,” Clint continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Not just to ‘fuck-ups’, or soldiers. If you looked it up you’d see thousands of other people just like you that have no idea how to raise a kid. And just that many people learned to love those kids.”

“Bucky said I shouldn’t have to _learn_ to-”

“Barnes doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” Clint dismissed. “All he sees is the baby he wanted for decades, and the one you said _you_ wanted. Whether you did or didn’t that doesn’t matter. Really, if this weren’t such a delicate situation, I’d have chewed him out-”

“Really?” Steve deadpanned.

“Nope! Asshole terrifies me, even when he is holding a baby. But my point here is he’s the one being unreasonable, not you. He has every right to be mad at you for lying to him, don’t get me wrong, but that doesn’t mean he’s _right_ about it.”

“How is any of this supposed to help me?” Clint just shrugged.

“Look, if he’s already gone, he’s gone. That doesn’t mean he’ll stay gone.” When Steve opened his mouth to argue back, he just barrelled on. “Look, you guys were bonded for ten years before he died, and about two years since he got back. You two are the most hideously co-dependant couple I’ve ever met, when he goes, he’ll stay gone. But that doesn’t mean he won’t let you know where he is every once in a while.”

“You can’t possibly know that-”

“No, but I know _Nat_. Nat and Barnes are very scarily alike in thousands of ways that, frankly, I’m too nervous to talk about. Nat’s gone on the run enough times for me to know how that works. She’s been mad at me for a fair few of those times, but she caved, sent me some kind of picture. Nothing I’d follow, just enough for me to know where she was, where she was going. If I wanted to follow her, I could have, and she knew that. So believe me when I say, whatever Barnes is planning to do, it won’t last _forever_.”

“My screwed up bond won’t last forever?” he curled his lip back in irritation.

“No, it won’t. Come find me in a year’s time. Tell me that it did then.” Clint seemed to have said his piece, and he checked his watch with a sigh. “It’s been about a half hour since you left, so I doubt he has yet. If he has, he won’t have gotten far. Go push your luck.”

Steve took a second to make his decision, but when he did, he was up and out of Clint’s sight without so much as an ‘Okay’.

The car was still in the lot, but that didn’t mean anything, Bucky could just as easily have stolen any car that caught his eye.

What might have meant something, however, is the fact that the door to the motel room was cracked open, only slightly. Fear seized his chest; Bucky had gone, and been in too much of a hurry to close the door.

He couldn’t bring himself to open the door, but the curtains had been pinned shut, so he couldn’t see through the window. Bracing himself for the feeling of failure that had gripped him for so long, he pushed the door to, finding-

Finding Bucky writhing on the bed, whimpering as his hands plunged down on his stomach desperately, chest rising and falling too fast for comfort. When Steve dropped his horrified gaze to his stomach, he found it coated in crimson. The baby was nowhere in sight, until-

“Captain.”

Rage boiled in his stomach, lifting his eyes from his mate and turning them just to the right and finding the very man who’d stolen his mate, his back to Steve.

“Ross,” he spat in lieu of anything else to say.

“Steve,” Bucky whined, too weak after a single wound. Had he been poisoned? “My – my son, he – he has my son-”

Ross slowly turned around then, with a vicious smile on his face and sure enough, in his disgusting grasp sat Steve’s son.

 _Steve’s_ son.

“What do you want?” Steve spat, tone drowning in derision and disgust. He had no weapons, his shield was against the wall behind Ross, and that very man was also holding a gun.

A gun, next to his _son_. Steve was under no illusion that it wasn’t loaded, and he was holding a loaded fucking gun with his baby right next to it.

 _So,_ his mind sang absently as he ground his teeth, _that’s how Bucky feels._

“Your son is very cute, Captain.” Ross cajoled, smiling with teeth that begged to be knocked out. “It’s a shame he comes from such a bad egg. The apple never falls far from the tree unless it’s picked up.”

“You’re not taking my son anywhere,” Steve growled, taking a threatening step forward. Ross, though he took a step back, didn’t look in the least bit threatened, instead raised his gun with the barrel towards him.

“Specially formulated anti-serum.” Ross told him conversationally. “Doctor Cho was very co-operative while she was working with me. It won’t kill you, it’ll just stop you from healing for a good day or two. Long enough. And I’ll be taking your son from you. Consider it in his best interest of safety.”

“Kidnapping a child for _safety_ ,” he sneered. “Like he’d ever be _safe_ with _you_.”

“And he’d be safe with you?” Ross challenged, narrowing his eyes. “Look around you. You’re running away, living in motels that are more dangerous than any battle you’ve fought. You think raising him as the son of a terrorist on the run from the authorities is safe?”

“Bucky is not a terrorist, and our son is safer in our arms than he ever would be in yours.”

Ross chuckled, eyes dropping to the boy with a detestable softness to his eyes.

“I remember when Betty was this small. She was such a sweet baby. I think people forget I’m a father sometimes. I know how hard it must be to let him go, Captain, but understand that this is for everyone’s safety-”

“So you’re not trying to create your own super-soldier?” Steve challenged, shooting a look to his mate. In the distraction, the weakened omega was trying, and failing, to pull himself off of the bed to get to his son, eyes swimming in tears. If whatever anti-serum Ross had could do that to Bucky… “You’ve wanted right from the start to get Bucky where you want him. When you couldn’t get that, you decided to get your own super-soldier. This was the easiest way, wasn’t it?”

Ross laughed without humour. The gun had never faltered, but his son was starting to whimper, rolling in the stranger’s grasp. Steve stepped forward, a new instinct that had him itching to comfort the boy before he started crying.

The gun clicked. “Don’t move, Captain.”

“I’ve got you cornered,” Steve snarled. “I’m next to the door, your back’s against the wall. Where are you supposed to go?”

Ross’s smile was slimy and smarmy and Steve wanted nothing more than to punch it right off his face, after taking his son away. The idea that a man as disrespectful, as disgusting, as _evil_ as Ross had his hands on _Bucky’s and his baby_ was enough to make his blood boil. Every ounce of anger Steve felt for a son he couldn’t love became a catalyst, reacting like chemicals to produce a binding, strong desire to take a baby he couldn’t love into his arms and never let him go.

The gun moved. Bucky whimpered, and Steve instantly moved into the path of the gun, seamless and silent, a challenge rather than a command. He knew it was the move that Ross was counting on, but he didn’t care. Bucky was in just as much danger as their son was, and he had already been shot. One more gunshot with an anti-serum…

 Ross took the opening that Steve left, moving slowly towards the door, gun still trained directly onto Steve.

“Don’t think you’re getting away with my son,” Steve growled, moving forward again but still blocking Bucky from the bullet’s path.

“But he’s not your son, is he? You don’t care about him enough for that.”

Steve went cold. He knew.

“That’s not true,” he said firmly, because – because looking at that small, innocent boy in that tyrant’s arms, knowing exactly why Ross wanted him, it _wasn’t_ true anymore. Maybe it wasn’t love, wasn’t quite affection. It was a waking sense of responsibility, of protection, of territorial instinct to keep what was his _safe_. Ross’s arms weren’t safe. “He’s my son. You don’t care about _him_ , you care about building your own perfect weapon.”

“I care about making the world a safer place. Leaving an infant in the hands of a-”

“Don’t you dare call him a terrorist,” Steve spat, taking another step forwards. When Ross pulled the trigger the silencer stopped the horrible _bang_ , but his flinch wasn’t needed, as it had been aimed slightly to his right, not touching either him or Bucky. “Not after everything he’s done for this country,” Steve continued as if Ross had never moved at all. The older alpha, a man who didn’t deserve the medals or recognition that adorned his very name, was telling him he’d pull the trigger if he had to.

Steve didn’t care.

“Leaving an infant in the hands of two delinquent parents who barely know how to speak to one another, let alone a child…” Ross continued to speak after that, words coming out of his mouth but Steve was unable to focus on them, eyes sliding over Ross’s shoulder to see Clint in the distance.

The beta looked sweaty and damp, and Steve was sure he could make out a spattering of crimson over his cheek. His hands came up, moulding together in a series of quick movements that Steve understood a second later to be sign language. _What’s happening?_

Ross’s gaze was on his face, still speaking with a sneer to his expression that made Steve want to wring his neck. He tapped slowly, deliberately onto his thigh, out of Ross’s eyeline, _Bucky shot, Ross has baby._

“-if you have a problem with any of this, I’m sure it can be re-evaluated over the Accords,” Ross finished, triumph lighting his loathsome expression.

“The _Accords_?” Steve laughed, high and hysterical. “You’re telling me that according to the _Accords_ , you can legally kidnap a child against the wishes of both parents, for the sole purpose of training him to be a cold-blooded killer? Which, by the way, is exactly what Bucky was forced to become over seven decades, and exactly how the Black Widow was created.”

“This is in the best interest of the US Government-”

“This is in the best interest of a selfish, hypocritical tyrant,” Steve spat, stepping closer again. Clint signed quickly, catching Steve looking in his direction, _I can get a shot_.

 _No,_ he tapped in reply, sneering at the alpha holding his son. _Not while he’s got the baby. On my mark._

Steve never thought through his plans very well, but he had to hope to every single deity that this rushed plan might work.

“Ross,” he said calmly, seeming to unnerve the older man slightly. “Tell me. Did you bring your men here?”

The alpha laughed. “I’m not an idiot, Captain. Of course I did, in case you decided to cause too much trouble for me.”

“Then why haven’t,” he said slowly, tapping out N – O – W to coincide with his last word, “any of your men clocked on to the sniper at your six?”

Steve revelled in the widening of the alpha’s eyes for only a half-second before a gunshot rang out from that distance, and he dove into Ross’s personal space and tugged his son out as gently as he could manage. He upset the poor boy, and Ross wouldn’t have let go if it weren’t for the excruciating cry he gave as the bullet met the meat of his thigh, falling to the floor and writhing in agony.

“My – my baby—” Bucky called weakly from the bed, almost a whisper as his eyelids were drooping. Whatever was on that bullet was getting to him too quickly, so Steve raced to his mate’s side, bouncing the infant so, so carefully in an attempt to soothe him, kneeling at Bucky’s side. The omega, eyes wet and cheeks pale, rested his head on Steve’s shoulder and stared.

“He’s here,” Steve swore quietly, nudging Bucky with his shoulder. “See, see? He’s okay, he’s okay, he’s right here, you’re gonna be okay, Buck…” Bucky’s response was only a weak hum before his whole body went limp against him, only the heat of his breath against Steve’s shoulder proving that he was still alive.

Clint ran in only a second later, clearly covered in blood now, and staring around the motel with a subdued expression of horror.

Sirens blared in the distance, but Steve just couldn’t care.

His son was crying.


	12. Chapter 12

Steve’s first instinct after Bucky had been hooked up to all of the machines hadn’t been to sit at his side and hold his hand. It hadn’t been to stay with him until he woke. It hadn’t been to haze the doctors and nurses who went into his room.

His first instinct was to leave the room, take his son, and talk to the first paediatrician he could find.

The boy was two weeks old and had never seen the inside of a hospital or a doctor’s examining room. Steve didn’t know what was normal and he doubted Bucky did too. Who knew if the baby had some kind of genetic illness, too, even despite what Clint said? So he went to the children and babies’ ward and stopped the first doctor who didn’t look as busy as the rest.

“My son,” he said slowly, haltingly. “He’s – he’s two weeks old, he’s never been to a doctor, and I – want to know if he’s…” he faltered, and the doctor frowned, crossing her arms.

“Never been to a doctor? Wasn’t he born in a hospital?” Steve swallowed, nervous under her judgemental gaze. “Are you Steve Rogers?” she asked, making him duck his head even further, nodding.

“We – we’ve been on the run, we couldn’t let anyone know…”

The doctor hmphed, frowning as she reached her arms out for the boy. He shouldn’t be as trusting of a woman he’d never met before, but he had no choice as he lowered the boy carefully into her arms.

She marched off without another word, turning into an empty room and undressing him faster than Steve could even blink. He didn’t try to intervene, though he moved from one foot to another, agitated and nervous.

“I take it he hasn’t had any post-natal examinations or tests?” she asked, and Steve stumbled over his answer.

“No, none.”

“Do you mind?” she asked, turning to him and gesturing to a couple of small packets of test kits. He swallowed, eyeing them up as he shook his head.

“No, no. it’s okay.” She didn’t need any more than that, working quickly and efficiently to obtain a spot of blood and gently soothing him when he cried. Steve took a nervous, harried step forward, reaching with one hand before stopping halfway.

“This is normal,” she supplied, before her tone turned disapproving. “Though it  would have been better for him if he’d seen a doctor already.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, suitably chastised. The doctor shook her head, and Steve took the time to look at her name tag, Dr. Tran.

“He needs to be weighed,” she told him as she picked him up, face still red from his crying at the pain, and Steve just wanted to pull him to his chest and soothe him like he saw Bucky do. He nodded even though she wasn’t watching. Whatever the scales said made sense to her. “Two weeks old, you said?”

“Yeah, almost.”

“I don’t know how much he weighed when he was born but I’d say he’s slightly underweight.” She frowned. “Is he being breastfed exclusively?”

“No, he – he’s been getting some formula…” Steve meant for it to come off confident, but he was just too nervous for that to be.

“He needs more. Whatever the mother’s been producing for him isn’t enough. Is the mother stressed? Tired? Childbirth can do that, especially when on the run.”

“He is,” Steve nodded slowly. Bucky insisted on giving their son as much milk as he could manage, and Steve had just never cared to notice that it most likely wasn’t enough. If he’d just picked up a nightly feed here or there…

“Well, he needs to rest. Give him more formula. What’s his name?”

Steve just stared at her, and he could sense her growing annoyance.

“No name. Great. You have to have a name within six weeks of birth. I don’t get paid enough for this.”

With that, she coerced the boy back into his green onesie, and gently passed him back to Steve. She was gone before he could even say thank you.

The poor boy was still whimpering from the jab to his heel so Steve took the opportunity to attempt to recreate one of the things that Bucky would do. He pulled the boy upright and used one of his too-big, too-strong hands to keep his head against his neck, other hand stabilising the boy beneath his rump. As Steve walked back towards Bucky’s room, the gentle rocking of his steps soothed him into quiet whines, falling almost completely silent outside of Bucky’s room.

Clint was inside already, sitting on one of the waiting chairs provided. He looked up from his phone as Steve entered, quietly shushing the boy even though he wasn’t stirring. A smile turned up the corners of his mouth.

“Clicked, didn’t it?” he asked softly. Steve sighed as he nodded.

“He was – he was in Ross’s arms, and I just… I don’t know what happened, I just couldn’t let him hold my son.”

“Yeah. I get it. If Ross had his hands on Nathaniel, I’d tear him limb from limb. He’s out of surgery, by the way. Unconscious, but otherwise okay. Not going anywhere though. I called Tony, who called… I don’t know who else. I think they’re going to arrest Ross.”

“For what?” he asked, setting himself slowly onto the chair.

“Kidnapping? Child endangerment?” Clint snickered, turning back to his phone. “Plus, ‘conspiracy to violate the Sokovian Accords’. That’s the biggest one.”

“Will anyone believe that?” Steve e fretted, biting his lip as he looked towards Bucky.

“People will believe whatever we want them to believe,” the beta assured him, voice softer than he’d ever known it. “And it’s true. The Accords said that any attempt to create or introduce a new third party of equal or greater power to any Avenger will be overseen by the government.”

“Ross _is_ the government.”

“He’s one man in it. As much as I hate to say it, Steve, the government is corrupt. Ross proves that. But it’s not all corrupt. Besides, if they don’t like our stance, we can just leak some stuff about how Ross planned to basically abuse the kid.”

Steve bared his teeth at the thought, resisting the urge to tighten his grip on the baby. He’d never let anyone hurt this kid.

If Bucky stayed.

“Tony’s sending a quinjet,” Clint informed him, rolling to his feet. “And I’ve gotta call Laura. Quinjet will be here in a couple hours, I’ll let you know.”

With that, the beta left Steve alone with his baby son and his practically comatose mate.

The anti-serum was already being fought off by Bucky’s metabolism, but the doctors had raised concerns about his healing rate after the birth. If it took a normal person six to eight weeks to heal, Bucky should have already been fine, but he was still in pain. Steve suspected that the birth was a lot harder than it should have been, and Bucky hadn’t wanted to admit that.

Steve gently moved his son from his neck to cradling him in his arms. He stirred for only a second, tiny brows wrinkling with a whimper before smoothing out. He was breathing a little louder than usual, he thought, but Steve suspected that it was because of how quiet the room was, aside from the quiet beeping of Bucky’s machines.

“Hi, buddy,” he whispered. “I know you want your – your daddy, but right now he needs to rest, okay? He’ll be just fine in a couple hours, okay, baby?” Steve adjusted his little green cap as it was sliding off his head. “I’m sorry about before,” he continued in a low murmur. “I – I didn’t know how I felt about you. You were just so new, and so small… I never had a dad. Don’t know how to be one, really. I was always sick when I was a kid, and I worried about giving that to you. And then – then I only knew about you for a couple of hours before I met you, and I… I should have handled that better. I’m sorry.

“But I’m gonna try to do better. I promise, I will. I mean – if your daddy will let me.” Against his will, Steve’s eyes started to tear up, so he pulled one hand away to wipe them roughly. “Your daddy might take you away from me. Maybe yesterday that wouldn’t have bothered me so much, but today… today I just – I can’t let you go. I won’t let you go. I’ll be a good dad, I’ll try to be anyway. If your daddy just – just gives me one more chance. I don’t deserve another chance, not after how I’ve treated you. But I hope he gives me one anyway.”

God, what he wouldn’t give to get one more chance.

A low groan had his ears pricking and his neck snapping up to the bed, seeing the man in question opening his eyes and moving around a little.

“Buck,” he said, relieved and terrified all at once.

“My son,” was the first thing out of his mouth, and Steve couldn’t even bring himself to be offended, not feeling the way he did for the baby, not after everything that had just happened. “Give him to me-” he demanded hoarsely, and Steve rushed to comply, smoothly rolling out of his seat and onto his knees on the floor, baby comfortably nestled in the crook of his arms.

Bucky plucked him out of Steve’s arms with far too much grace for someone who’d just gotten shot, and the baby didn’t even stir. He unconsciously seemed to recognise his father, the one who’d given him so much affection and love, and curled into him.

“I took him to a doctor,” Steve whispered, nervously anticipating Bucky’s response. The omega froze.

“And?” he demanded gruffly.

“She – she said he’s underweight. We need to give him more formula.”

Bucky’s expression was nothing short of heartbreaking as he tugged the boy closer.

“Underweight?” he whispered. “But – but I’ve been feeding him…”

“She said you’re probably tired.” Steve bit his lip. “Maybe it means you’re not… producing enough?”

Bucky sighed, shaking his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice, baby,” he whispered. “I’ll give you more formula, okay?”

With that, Steve sat back on his heels and fell silent

 

The quinjet, it turned out, was being piloted by a certain fiery redhead. One who did _not_ look happy.

“Rogers,” she hissed, eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms and waited for all four of them to get on the plane. “So you lied to me.”

“I had no choice,” Steve sighed, shooting a mournful glance at Bucky, carrying the baby in the car carrier Steve had bought weeks ago.

“We’ll be talking about this in detail later,” she accused, turning around and resuming her seat at the helm and closing the door.

Steve spotted Bucky settling the baby on a table in the jet and blinking tiredly at the infant. He pattered over.

“Buck?” he asked gently. The look Bucky gave him in reply was cool and calm, but there wasn’t as much warmth as he would have liked. “If – if you want to get some rest, I can…”

“Wouldn’t want to impose,” Bucky replied coldly, turning his gaze out of the window of the jet as they took off.

Shame boiled in his chest but he shook it off, insisting earnestly, “Please? I don’t mind.”

Unfortunately for Bucky’s resolve, the dark circles beneath his eyes hadn’t abated in the least, so he sighed.

“Fine. Wake me up when he needs feeding.”

“Okay,” Steve agreed, almost eager to prove himself even though it seemed ridiculous. Bucky would be asleep. But he still had even the smallest chance, and he wouldn’t waste it.

Within minutes, Bucky was out like a light, and Steve was left to babysit the boy that he finally, mercifully held some affection for.

 

When the baby started crying, he feared that Bucky would wake up and insist he do it himself, but the omega only twitched in his sleep, so Steve scooped up the baby and marched to the other side of the jet, where he’d left the bags, and searched for the machine that warmed up the bottle. It was his feeding time, Steve knew that, finally figured out the pattern after two weeks of seemingly random times he ate. Or, he figured it out once he began to care.

He had to gently soothe the boy while his formula was warming up, shooting furtive glances to the sleeping omega to make sure he wasn’t waking up before the bottle was finally ready. With a quick check against his wrist, Steve deemed it warm enough and carefully offered the boy the bottle.

Instead of resuming his seat, Steve instead made his way slowly to the cockpit, taking the empty co-pilot’s seat that Clint had abandoned in search of food.

“Hey Nat,” he sighed, knowing he should at least try to talk her out of being mad at him.

“Cute kid.” She said. “He yours?”

“Yeah. Two weeks old.”

“Hm. That’s why you lied to me, then.” She didn’t ask it; Natasha was smart enough to put that together on her own, and it wasn’t too far of a stretch.

“Yeah.” Steve acknowledged.

“Everyone’s been worried about you, you know. I do mean everyone, not just Sam and me.”

Steve tried to swallow the guilt that leapt into his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“I know. Just a suggestion, but if you show everyone the kid, I’m pretty sure they’ll forgive you a little faster.”

Steve wanted to laugh, but…

“I don’t know how long he’s going to be here,” he admitted, swallowing. “Bucky… he’s leaving. I don’t know when, but I’m pretty sure he’s going to.”

“What did you do, Rogers?” Natasha asked, more exasperated than annoyed.

“Before today I just… didn’t feel anything for the kid.”

“I don’t feel anything for children.”

“None of the children you see are yours,” he pointed out. She inclined her head slowly.

“Fair point. But you said ‘before today’. So, today, how do you feel?”

“I feel like I’d throw you out of this plane right now if someone told me it would keep him safe.”

“Sounds reasonable. Just tell Barnes that.”

“He won’t believe it. He… he hates my guts, he’ll leave as soon as we land.”

“If he hated your guts, if he didn’t trust you to take care of the kid, would he have let you watch him while he slept?”

“He’s exhausted.”

“Then why wouldn’t he ask Clint? Clint’s a father.”

“I offered.”

“Exactly. Barnes has never had any problem turning you down before. Ever. So if he didn’t want you near his son, whom you supposedly don’t like, he wouldn’t have let you. You’re an idiot, Steve.”

“I know,” he sighed, only letting the conversation end because he couldn’t stand to continue arguing while his son was feeding.

Steve was grateful there was no welcoming back party waiting on the roof as they got out of the jet. Their greeting party was limited only to Tony and Pepper, both of whom widened their eyes as they caught sight of the baby in the carrier Bucky was holding.

“So he was serious,” Tony said needlessly. “Huh. Congrats, Cap, didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Thanks,” Steve grumbled, mildly irritated.

“What’s his name? I hope it’s Tony.”

“It’s not Tony,” Bucky huffed. “He doesn’t have a name, I’m still deciding.”

 _I’m_. The single word scalded Steve, but he knew it was less than he deserved.

“Do you have everything you need?” Pepper asked kindly before Tony could say anything else stupid.

“No, I don’t,” the omega sighed. “I need so much more stuff.”

“I’ll help you look,” Steve offered quickly, eyes full of hope that only dwindled slightly at Bucky’s exasperated expression. It wasn’t an outright _no_. That was what mattered.

“Well, we’re glad you’re back, anyway,” Pepper assured them. “And your new addition.”

“Are you sure you’re not going to name him Tony? How about something fun. Like Gunner.”

“Steve doesn’t like that name.” Bucky said stiffly, walking away from the other omega.

Maybe Steve had a chance.

Pepper and Tony, thankfully, seemed to recognise that company wasn’t entirely welcome so soon, and left the broken couple alone in their apartment.

It was strange to see the place after spending what had seemed like forever on the run. This place had been his home for months, and Steve felt like, without Bucky, there wasn’t a home to go to.

Bucky set the carrier down and stared around the apartment with a strange detachment to his expression.

“I’ve missed this place,” he murmured absently, noticing the dust that had settled over the TV, the kitchen counter, the tables. Steve hadn’t actually used this apartment for over a month before finding Bucky.

“Me too,” Steve supplied, feeling like he should say something. “I’ve missed you too.”

It must have been the wrong thing to say, because Bucky sighed and dropped his gaze.

“I said I was going to leave. If you can’t love him, I won’t make you. But I won’t stay on the off chance you might.”

“Please don’t,” Steve asked him, a lot calmer than he expected to be. “Just – stay? Give me – give me one more chance.”

“Steve-”

“I know I don’t deserve one,” he interrupted, gaze falling on the baby as he opened his little fists. “And I know you think – you think I only want you, but – but I want you both. One more chance, that’s all I want. Please? If – if I screw up, you can go, and I won’t argue. I just want _one more chance._ ”

Bucky was silent for long enough that every bit of hope in his chest came crumbling down, shattering like glass, like the broken bond they’d never renewed.

“I heard you,” Bucky said, suddenly enough that Steve jolted slightly back. The omega knelt down the offer one of his metal fingers to his son, who wrapped his tiny fist around it.

“Heard what?” he asked, anxiety flustering his system. Had he said something incriminating?

“You thought I was sleeping. In – in the hospital. I heard you talk to him. Maybe I was being unreasonable. You – you had hours to come to terms with being a father. When you got upset about him being sick… you were really concerned for him, weren’t you?” He raised his gaze up to Steve’s. “You were really worried about him getting sick?”

Steve nodded slowly. “It wasn’t the way you wanted me to, but… I still cared. And – and I’m going to try. I swear, Buck, if you – if you give me a chance-”

“You kept calling him your son. To Ross. Even though he knew how you felt.”

Steve swallowed, licking his lips as he nodded. “That was – I couldn’t stand the idea of him holding our son. It just – it flicked some kind of switch and… I just…”

“This…” Bucky trailed off, shaking his head as if gathering what little courage he could find to say the words he wanted to say. “This is the only reason you’re getting another chance, okay? Because – because you started to _care_. And if you can’t care about him I _will_ go. But for now – just for now you get one chance.”

“Thank you,” Steve swore, emotion gushing into every crevice of his voice as he dropped to his knees and attacked Bucky with a hard hug. “I won’t let you down, Bucky, I promise. I promise I won’t.”

“Okay,” Bucky agreed gently. “I believe you.”


	13. Epilogue

Steve’s lips were worried pink as he approached Bucky. The omega was clearing out one of the other rooms in the apartment to build a nursery for the baby, whom they still hadn’t named. But Steve had a suggestion.

“Buck?” he called. The baby against his chest cooed in response as Bucky turned his head towards them.

“Yeah?” he grunted.         

“I think I got an idea of what to name him.” he offered nervously, biting his lower lip even more as Bucky stared at him for a second before moving away from the wall.

“Okay, go.” Bucky encouraged.

“Well, it… my ma, she wanted to name me Matthew, but my dad wanted me to be called Steve, so – so when he died, that’s what she called me, but she always said if she’d had another boy, she’d have named him Matthew,” he rushed to explain, even though names weren’t exactly something that needed an explanation for. “So – I think that Matthew’s a good name. For him, I mean.”

“Matthew…” Bucky considered, gaze rising thoughtfully to one corner of the room. “I like Matthew.”

Steve’s grin was blinding. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s nice.” Bucky sauntered forward, moving into the view of his son. “You like Matthew, buddy? Matt?” As if on cue, the kid started cooing, so Bucky grinned again and pressed his lips to the boy’s forehead. “Matthew it is. Good job, Steve.” He said a little softer, lifting his lips from Matthew’s forehead to Steve’s cheek.

He turned away then, returning to his job of clearing out the room as Steve looked after him.

“By the way,” Bucky called as he went to leave the room.

“Hmm?”

“I think he needs changing.”

“What? No, he’s-”

Matthew started whining.

“Goddamn it,” Steve cursed under his breath. “Your daddy always has to be right, doesn’t he?”

 

The first time Matthew cried inconsolably, Steve hadn’t been far behind. He’d changed him, offered him milk, Bucky had offered him his chest, and Steve had taken him back and rocked him, all to no avail.

By the twenty minute mark, Steve’s frustration dipped towards failure and fear, continuing to rock him and hold him close, muttering to him under his breath.

“Come on, buddy, please stop crying,” he begged, panic welling in his throat. “Please stop crying, please?”

“Steve-” Bucky called gently from behind him, and it was like he’d been zapped by lightning, because he curled around Matthew even tighter.

“No, no, I’m trying, Bucky, please, I’m trying-” he gasped, barely noticing tears sliding down his face. “I’m trying to help, please don’t leave-”

“Steve!” Bucky called, more insistently this time. “I’m not going to leave you because he won’t stop crying, okay?”

“But – but he-”

“He’s a baby, and sometimes babies get colicky,” Bucky sighed. “I warmed up a blanket for him, try swaddling him.”

Swallowing down his nauseating anxiety, Steve carefully turned and put Matthew on the bed, wincing as his screams pierced his eardrums. Within a minute, he had the boy swaddled in his blue blanket. While his cries lessened somewhat, they weren’t gone.

“I sterilised a pacifier,” Bucky added. “Just in case. Try him on that?”

Bucky did the honours, however, slowly putting the pacifier in his mouth so that Matthew had the time to recognise that it was there and react accordingly. Mercifully, he seemed to latch onto it within minutes, his sharp cries dying into a blessed silence.

“See?” Bucky murmured gently into Steve’s ear. “He’s okay. I’m not going to leave you because he gets fussy.”

“Sorry,” Steve replied despondently, voice wobbling.

“No, I should be sorry.” Bucky argued instead, shaking his head. “I shouldn’t have said I was going to leave you. I wasn’t being fair.”

“I wasn’t being fair to him.”

“You are now. That’s what matters. You – you love him now, don’t you?”

Steve swallowed, remaining silent for a half second before nodding slowly. “I think I do.”

“Then I’ll stay.” Bucky promised, and Steve managed not to start _crying_ again.

“Thank you, Buck, _thank you_ …”

“It’s okay, Stevie. I’ve got you.”

 

Their whole lives had been flipped upside down when Bucky had taken those tests. While Matthew may not have been as warmly welcomed as either of them would have liked, the incredibly warm reception he got at the tower from all the Avengers was more than enough to make up for it.

Wanda especially was keen on him, and Natasha shot him soft smiles when she thought no one was looking, but Bucky caught her looking.

Bruce seemed to like him enough (from a difference – Steve wasn’t the only one with issues around kids), Thor wanted nothing more than to entertain him for hours, which was fine by Bucky whenever he was in the vicinity.

Tony… was Tony, which means to say that he definitely _tried_ to build a mini-Iron Man suit before Pepper deemed that inappropriate. He built a mini-Cap suit instead.

Vision was a little weird around the kid, but Bucky attributed that to the fact that Vision had never actually _been_ a baby. He’d just existed.

Cho had dropped by after news of Ross’ arrest hit mainstream media; she’d been met with a hard hug from both Bruce and Bucky.

“I have other friends you know,” she explained to them, more amused than irritated. “I can take care of myself if needs be.”

She was certainly glad to see Matthew growing so well, too, and Cho had assured Bucky that she had no hard feelings about his escape attempt. He returned the favour.

 

Steve still had bad days where he couldn’t go near Matthew for fear of hurting him, or doing something wrong. Bucky had bad days where he felt that he didn’t deserve to have a boy as innocent as his son, especially with all of the blood on his hands.

They were working through it. It was a lot easier than it sounded, too. Taking care of Matthew eventually turned into a dream of routine and playfulness, and a domestic life they both had wanted for _decades_.

 

Until Matthew managed to lift up his crib at five months old.

Kids always made life a hell of a lot more interesting anyway.


End file.
